Over the last few years of research, there is an apocryphal (?) story that has stuck with me: the legend that Richard the Lionheart brought home a company of Muslim mercenaries to aid him in his fight against King Philip Augustus, who we met in our last two episodes as we translated the Philippide, the chronicle of Philip’s history written by William the Breton.

Could this really be true? It sounds, as they say, “too good to fact check.” Did Richard really bring home warriors allied with his mortal enemy Saladin?

I could never remember where I’d encountered the legend (if legend it was), and a few attempts to track it down previously had failed. Yesterday I decided to try again; I found it. I am grateful to Andy Staples blog for pointing the way; he references F. M. Powicke’s short note in the 1911 Scottish Historical Review1. Powicke’s note is out of copyright and only available as page images so far as I can find; so I’m going to publish a transcription/translation here, making use of some of the OCR tools I have developed recently.2 3

It is not too hard to credit that Richard might have used Muslim warriors in spite of the presumed cultural contradiction and his failed but hard-fought Third Crusade to retake Jerusalem from the Muslim forces of Saladin. He often spoke highly of the valor of his enemies while he was in the Holy Land, and appreciated and feared their skill as horseback archers. Readers of this blog will recall that Richard was surprisingly friendly with his enemies, negotiating with them extensively, and writing very cordial letters to Saladin. Still, it has all sound of a medieval “urban legend,” so to speak. But reading Powicke’s note, it seems there a reasonable amount of evidence for the story: it is contained in a 14th century manuscript of one of the continuations4 of William of Tyre’s chronicle of the Third Crusade. There it is recorded that Richard brought such a company back with him, and further, there are entries in the Norman Exchequer (essentially the royal expense reports) for payments to a company of Saracens in Richard’s territories, so we have corroborating evidence of a sort.

It is worth noting that most contemporary histories recount that Richard shipwrecked on his way home, and tried to cross Europe with just a handful of compatriots, so if he did bring a company of Muslim mercenaries back with him, they were traveling in different ships or a different time.

[Update: in re-reading the definitive biography of Richard, Gillingham’s Richard I, I find that Gillingham briefly mentions this account and supports the story—so maybe this is not a legend after all].

Enjoy the short note below. The Old French and Latin passages in the original note have been translated using Gemini AI and rendered in the footnotes.

THE SARACEN MERCENARIES OF RICHARD I.

M. Dieulafoy, in his essay upon Château-Gaillard (Mémoires de l’Institut ; Académie des inscriptions et belles-lettres, 1898, vol. xxxvi. pt. i. p. 371, note), has called attention to a passage in one of the continuators of William of Tyre, in which King Richard is said to have brought away one hundred and twenty Saracens (Mamelos5) from the Holy Land. The passage occurs in a manuscript of the fourteenth century, which has been printed as text D in the edition of the so-called Histoire d’Heracles, published by the Académie des Inscriptions (Recueil des Historiens des Croisades, Historiens Occidentaux, vol. ii. (1859) p. 196):

Puis que l’ost fu venus et le rei ot rescousse Japhe, un grant descort sorst entre Salhadin et ses amiraus. Dont nos gens ne s’aparsurent jus ques a tant que les Sarasins furent deslogies devant Japhe et alerent herbergier au Chastel des Plains. Salhadin oi dire que le roi veneit apres lui. Il douta son frere Seif Eddin et les autres amiraus, si ne l’osa atendre, a escheriement envers la Surie Sobal, por garnir le Crac et Montreal que il aveient novelement conquis. Le rei et l’ost alerent herbergier pres d’un Chastel dou Temple que l’on nomeit la Toron des Chevaliers. Les Bedoyns s’acointeterent dou rei : si pristrent de lui fiance, et li jurerent que il serviroient leiaument et fereient assavoir le covine (?) et l’estre de Salahadin et de toute la payenisme, et les Memelos des am iraus oirent parler de la largesse et des dons dou rei. Chascun qui se corouseit a son seignor, il s’en fuioient et veneient au rei d’Engleterre. Il fu aucune fois que le rei aveit des Memelos bien trois cens, dont il mena o lui bien cent et vingt Memelos outre mer quant il s’en parti de cest pays.6

The version (D) from which this account is taken comes from a MS. of the 14th century. In the opinion of its editors it is of eastern origin, like some other continuations of William of Tyre, including the famous Colbert manuscript, and was written in Cyprus before 1267 (Hist. Occid. ii. p. vii). Although of no value in determining the text of the original chronicle of Ernoul, upon which, as M. L. de Mas Latrie has shown (Chronique d’Ernoul et de Bernard le Trésorier, Paris, 1871), the widespread continuations of William of Tyre are largely based, this Cypriot version is well and specially informed.7 The allusion to King Richard’s Saracen mercenaries cannot therefore be set aside summarily, in spite of the fact that it is not found elsewhere. The context is corroborated by Beha-ed-din8, whose narrative shows that Richard was in close communication with Saracen prisoners and ambassadors, after the relief of Jaffa on July 31st, 1192 (Palestine Pilgrims’ Text Society’s translation of Beha-ed-din, p. 371 seqq.). Beha-ed-din also refers to the anger of Saladin on his retreat to Yazur (the Castle of the Plains). The friendship between Richard and the Sultan’s brother (El-Adel Saphadin, or Seif Eddin) is a theme of historians on both sides.

The story that Richard took some Mamelukes away with him is confirmed by the Norman Exchequer rolls. On the roll of 1195 the following entries occur (ed. Stapleton, I. 221):

In liberationibus Saracenorum morantium apud Domfront per preceptum Regis, a die Lune proxima post festum Sancti Michaelis usque de die lune post festum Sancti Egidii, c. li. ix. li. vj. so. per breve Regis. . . . Gibelino Saraceno in solta pertas equi sui l. so. per idem breve.9

Two other entries on this page refer to the Saracens. Again, on the roll for the year 1198 (ii. 301):

Soubressailant et Saracenis suis c. li. xxxv. li. de liberatione sua per breve Regis.10

Stapleton, whose caution was as great as his general accuracy, regarded these Saracens as ordinary mercenaries. ‘The bands of whatever country,’ he says, ‘who fought for him, were known by the name of Saraceni, and in this instance [i.e. in 1195] appear to have been Walenses‘ (Observations, i clix). The word Saracen is certainly found either as a second name or a nickname in documents of this period. Besides the well-known chamberlain of St. Louis, Jean Sarrasin, we have the Roman citizen, Peter Saracenus, whose name occurs frequently in the Patent Rolls of John (Rot. Pat. ed. Hardy, p. 126, etc.), and the Alexander, son of William, Sarazein, who was a hostage of John of Courci in 1205 (Rot. Pat. 55b). But the term in its general sense was the usual term for the Arabs and Turks in Spain, Sicily, and Syria — and there is no reason to suppose that Richard’s Welsh mercenaries were called Saracens. The names given in the Exchequer Rolls add an element of certainty. Under the curious Soubressailant an Eastern name might well lurk. Fortunately Gibelinus can be traced more definitely. Professor Margoliouth has been so kind as to inform me that ‘persons are known to have been called Jibrīnī on the ground that they were natives of Bait-Jibrin. The name Gibelin[us] in Frankish documents is a transliteration of the Arabic Jibrīn, in ‘Bait-Jibrin.’ Professor Margoliouth adds, ‘the individual to whom you refer may well have come from this place.’ I would suggest, then, that the garrison of Domfront in 1195 contained some of these Saracens who had been attracted in Syria by the tales of Richard’s generosity.11

F. M. POWICKE.

The University, Belfast.

The translation of Book V follows.

CANTO FIFTH.

ARGUMENT.

This fifth canto contains massacres and particular battles. — The king chases the enemies from Vaudreuil, and makes them lift a siege after having made an eight-day march in three days. Richard, having seized Vierzon, torments the inhabitants of Brittany, but these, however, refuse to surrender Arthur to his uncle. — Philip destroys the castles of Dangu and Aumale. There King Richard, wanting to lift his camp, is defeated, and then he is wounded at Gaillon by a dart that hits him in the knee. — The French take the Count of Namur and massacre three thousand Welshmen. — Richard, having captured the Bishop of Beauvais, suddenly wants to undertake to seize Philip’s person while the latter marches towards Courcelles, followed only by a small number of knights; but filled with indignation, Atropos cuts the thread of Richard’s days.

MEANWHILE Count John was besieging Vaudreuil and making vain efforts to reduce it under the domination of his brother. He had with him Count David1, the Archbishop of York2, the lord of Arundel3, a babbling multitude come from the superb city of Rome, the people of the Pays d’Auge, who drink hard cider; those of Lisieux, who have no fountain, and who, instead of spring water, content themselves with drinking the water of muddy marshes, in which toads are piled one upon the other, while the frog mates with its male whose body is all spotted; the people of Vexin, who produce much grain; the hardy inhabitants of the Pays de Caux, and those of Hiémois, who are distressed at occupying only sterile mountains. All these peoples and many others united made concerted efforts to seize the castle.

But all the knights and the people, children of France, as many as could be gathered from the neighboring places, had united and set up their camp on the banks of the beautiful river Eure. King Philip went to them in great haste, from the city of Bourges. In three days (oh miracle!) he made an eight-day march, without dismounting from his horse, without taking a single moment of rest to refresh himself. Drenched in sweat, and covered in dust, he was still the first to cross the Eure at the ford. No delay held back the French; immediately they rushed with their accustomed lightness against the enemy, already troubled by their approach, who no longer considered it shameful for him to cowardly turn his back, and who preferred to flee and hide in the nearby forest, rather than defend himself in combat. The English knights therefore fled, throwing down their weapons, in order to save themselves more lightly, and the foot soldiers were taken prisoner, unable with their feet alone to escape the pursuit of the victor.

When the king had returned anew to the territory of Berry, John went to besiege Bressoles, but he suffered the same fate, and the inhabitants of the country alone drove him out, to his great shame.

I return to this journey of the king, to be astonished again that he could, like a giant, make in three days this march of eight days. And who would not be astonished that this king, followed by troops and laden with arms, flying in some sort with winged speed, rather than walking on foot, could, in so little time, accomplish so many days of march? What runner, or what winged-footed pilgrim, burning with the desire to return to his homeland, after having accomplished a vow, can boast of having done so, in three days, a march of one hundred forty miles? We are not told that formerly the great Alexander pursued with rapid flight Narbazan and Bessus, when they hastened to return to Bactriana, after the death of Darius. Thus, as it is recounted, Caesar, having left the city of Sens, arrived in Paris in one day’s march, when the Parisians, having driven the Romans from their homes, claimed to give themselves Camulogenus as king, whom Neustria sent to them from the city of Rouen, which caused Lutetia to be besieged and taken once again.

After this, King Richard and King Philip found themselves again in each other’s presence and prepared to fight; but Richard renounced remaining armed, and without any other warning, if not from him who holds in his hands the hearts and arms of powerful men, he placed himself at the disposal of his lord and declared himself ready to obey him in all things. He therefore renewed his oaths of fealty. and loyalty, and swore that he would be faithful to his lord, in peace and good friendship; but a short time later he even renounced this peace. However, as he could not violate it by an open enterprise, fearing the reproaches of renown if he showed himself openly rebellious towards his lord, and without any motive, he applied himself to secretly doing what he could not do by force, and inserted a fraud into the writing by which he committed himself. Thus, by this hidden artifice, he provoked a cause for war such that Philip was forced to undertake it first, and that this insult provided him, Richard, with a kind of right, by virtue of which he was permitted to repel the attacks directed against him.

A port situated on the bank of the river Seine, and which is called Porte-Joie, serves for the passage of those who go to the country of Vexin and to Vaudreuil. There is an island that cuts the riverbed in two, and which, situated in the middle of the current, is common to both banks. King Richard had a high citadel built on this island, fortified with ramparts, in contempt of the stipulations of the peace he had sworn; and as Philip wanted to reprimand him on this subject, he excused himself with as much perfidy as skill, trying to hide his injustice under the appearance of good right, and seeking to palliate his fraud with an art full of subtlety. Although the king had well demonstrated and exposed this perfidy, he did not want to take up arms again for this fact. He therefore remained calm; and Richard then resorted to new means. He initiated a lawsuit against the lord of Vierzon, and disregarding all rules, making himself the once judge and party, he summoned him before him for this unjust trial, concerning an affair which, according to law, belonged to Philip’s jurisdiction. The brave lord, his heart filled with indignation, could not bear this insult, and went to Paris to present his complaints to the king. But before he could return to his properties, Richard suddenly invaded all that belonged to him, completely stripped and plundered Vierzon, set fire to all the houses, and carried off rich spoils.

Oh, what sorrow! This castle of admirable beauty, abundant in all things that could contribute to the adornment of a castle, was reduced to nothing by an unforeseen stratagem and by an enemy who was not even suspected, and whom by right one should not have feared at all. Throughout the territory of Berry, which the sun burns with its rays, one could not find any castle more beautiful than that one, and whose lands were more fertile. To its right it was embellished by the plains of Sologne, whose land is fertile in grains; and the left side was adorned by the Cher, which flows gently through verdant meadows, whose banks are made more pleasant by the trees and the well-cultivated lands that surround it, which carries boats and gives the inhabitants of the country fish and all sorts of other advantages.

The king, when he was informed of an act of perfidy, such as he had experienced several times before, sent many servants and knights to fortify the places in Berry, so that Richard could not master them by such stratagems, and went, with many troops, to besiege Dangu. Richard having attempted several times to chase him away, and not being able to succeed, crossed the river Eure, and Nicolas, seduced by his gifts, delivered to him the castle of Nonnancourt which he was charged to guard. Then, having recognized how criminal it was to thus violate his engagements towards the one who had trusted his faith, and to deliver the castle of his lord, Nicolas took the habit of a Templar, and fled to the shores of Syria.

But the king, after having first seized Dangu, indefatigable, headed towards the castle of Nonnancourt, and reduced it under his domination. Those whom Richard had left in this castle, the king had them all loaded with irons and imprisoned them in the tower of Mantes, where they were guarded by Josselin, a man of brilliant valor, very zealous in chivalry, full of strength and courage, magnificent, and bearing in his heart a tender compassion for the afflicted. He therefore generously gave drink and food to his prisoners, and very often he allowed them to sleep before the tables with him, without precaution for himself; while he drank among them, he was killed by these men, children of Satan, who struck him with a dagger in the heart, at the very moment he was drinking. This act of treason, long meditated, being thus consummated, the prisoners who, by a secret fraud, had also long since filed their chains, then opened the doors, descended to the ground, by a steep slope, through the rough parts of a staircase, and thus found themselves outside the tower. While, counting on the darkness of a very thick fog, they were already preparing to leave from various sides through the false gates, suddenly a great noise arose throughout the castle enclosure, the inhabitants rushed, closed the gates before these men, all trembling, and soon they arrested almost all of them. The next day, raised head in the air at the top of a gallows, they were justly offered in sacrifice to Jupiter, and rightly removed from the earth, without however being received into the abode of the heavens; for, equally detestable to earth and sky, they deserved to be welcomed neither by the one nor by the other, and barely did the mobile air allow them to sway in its bosom. A punishment doubtless less great than the crime, if it were the only one inflicted for such a misdeed, but much less formidable than the punishment reserved for souls, when they have shed the flesh.

Richard, however, having invaded the Bretons, struck them with all sorts of calamities, overturned several castles, and devastated many towns and cities, sparing neither children nor grown men. Moreover, on the very day when the adorable Passion of Christ is celebrated, he caused many men to perish by the sword, and, preparing in his cruelty an unheard-of kind of death, he forced many others to perish in the flames and smoke, after they had entered caves, and even into the bowels of the earth, to flee death: but death pursues in all places those who flee it, and reaches them in all their retreats. However, with all his ferocity, Richard could not turn the Bretons from their obedience to Philip and their loyalty to the French; nor could he make them consent to hand over his nephew Arthur, for whom they suffered so much evils, Arthur, still a child, whom Guidenoc, bishop of Vannes, guarded at that time, whom he then returned safe and sound to King Philip, who was raised during his childhood at the court of Paris with Louis, a child like him, and who lived several years at this court, without experiencing any harm: he perished by the hand of his uncle, as soon as he fell into his power, having lived in safety among strangers, and was assassinated by the hands of a friend4.

Without further delay Richard left the territory of Bretagne, and followed by all his banners gathered in a crowd, passing through the fields of Bayeux, all covered with rye-grass, and the plains of the Caux region, then leaving Beauvais behind him, he led his troops in a rapid march, boasting of his plan to fight King Philip if the latter did not hasten to lift the siege of Aumale castle, whose ramparts he had invested six weeks earlier, established on the summit of a hill and amidst rocks. Richard therefore chose the best among his brave knights, those whose courage and fidelity inspired him with the most confidence, to lead them with him to attack the besiegers’ camp by surprise. Among these knights, the most valiant in war was Gui de Thouars, who became Duke of the Bretons a short time later, by marrying Arthur’s mother and receiving this duchy from her. With them were also Hugues le Brun, hero of La Marche, and Guillaume de Mauléon, followed by many knights.

Richard, carried away by the ardor of war, hoping with such auxiliaries to triumph over all his enemies, rushed with a rapid march towards the camp. Coming out of the same camp, and flying to meet him with no less ardor, then advanced Count Simon5, the Baron des Barres, Alain the Breton of Dinant, from whom King Richard had recently unjustly and by force taken the only one of his ancestors who still remained to him; with them are young men of elite, whose courage is indomitable, and whose arm is accustomed to war. Richard ceaselessly repeats that there is nothing to fear, and urges his men to always push for the most difficult enterprises. But as soon as the vigorous lion saw before him these warriors of indomitable courage, he recognized them successively by the banner of each of them. Like a lion of Libya transported by anger against the bulls he sees advancing in the middle of the pastures, raising their horns, standing tightly united and all ready to defend themselves: the lion dares not present his back to flee, and yet he dares not approach them either, being unable to hope for victory. Likewise, the noble king remains struck with stupor upon seeing his enemy so close to him; he dares not rush upon him, and the pride of his soul does not allow him to retreat either. This last course of action would make him fail in honor, but there would be more safety; in the other there is no safety, but also, and above all, there is honor. Finally, the valiant king, jealous of preserving his honor as much as possible, prefers this honor to the party that offers him more security. Filled with ardor, lowering his sword, and pressing his spurs into the flanks of his steed, he rushes upon the warriors with a transport of rage, and the warriors also rush towards him. Both sides fight with varying fortunes; lances break, swords are blunted under repeated blows, and soon a fierce combat engages with daggers drawn from their scabbards. According to his custom, the knight des Barres rages against the enemies, clearing a path with his sword to reach the king, with whom he ardently desires to come to blows; the knight unhorses three knights from their horses, without stopping to shackle them, and seeking only to unhorse others still.

Meanwhile, Count Simon’s arm was not inactive, and the other lords fought with no less valor. On its side, the troop of Poitevins showed no inferiority in courage, and performed no less praiseworthy exploits. They strike the enemy and are struck; they are unhorsed and unhorse; they take prisoners and are in turn taken prisoner. It is still uncertain on which side victory will settle, to which of the two parties fortune will grant its favors; both sides fight with varied chances, until the moment when the king saw, amidst thousands of enemies, Alain alone in the plain, who had withdrawn to repair his broken helmet. Having recognized him, the king leaves the fray, and, straightening his lance, rapidly heads into the plain, towards the place where he could rejoin Alain. As soon as he saw the king advance towards him, the Breton rejoiced no less to see him animated by the same desire that possessed him. But the king’s lance, striking against a pierced shield, breaks and refuses to fulfill its master’s wish. Similarly, the Breton’s lance cannot pierce the king’s shield, but sliding over the shield and advancing further, it penetrates the horse’s entrails, between its two thighs; with its well-sharpened point it cuts the horse’s tail at the point where it is attached, and finally breaking at this spot, it stops. The king and the animal then fall; but the king rises with admirable lightness, and leaps more quickly than one might have hoped onto another horse. Already the troops were shamefully turning their backs and fleeing, already the king himself could no longer withstand such fierce assaults. Gui, who was to become Duke of the Bretons, is taken prisoner with many others. The French, however, pursue the fugitives, the plain is cleared, and those who flee leave behind precious hostages, thirty knights and fifty other less considerable warriors. In the entire troop of the children of France, no one was taken prisoner or struck by death.

Following such a great triumph, the French indulge in transports of joy in their camp, and after having besieged the castle of Aumale for forty-nine days, and finally taken it, not without great efforts, they completely destroyed it, so that scarcely a trace of it remains. King Richard then sadly withdrew, unable to bear in his heart, overwhelmed with grief at having lost so many of his knights and abandoned the plain by a shameful flight, without even, amidst the vicissitudes of this harsh combat, having dealt death to a single one of all the French, without taking even one into captivity.

A short time later, Richard, wishing to besiege and invest the walls of Gaillon, having approached the ramparts of this castle, and carefully searching for the paths by which he could most easily ascend to penetrate into the citadel, the lord of this castle, Cadoc, having seen him from the top of a tower, launched a bolt from his crossbow, and the bolt struck the king in the knee and lodged in the horse’s flank. The animal rolled over immediately, and mortally wounded, barely had the strength to carry his master to the midst of his own men, who at the same time uttered a thousand threats against the lord of Gaillon, if he at least preserved his life. At the end of a month, when his wound had been healed with the help of powerful remedies, and by the care of a skilled hand, the king, stronger and more irritated than ever, resumed all his fury; having regained his vigor, he trembled and burned to take up arms, like the snake which, having shed its old skin, presenting its glistening back to the sun, works to arm its teeth with their poison, awaiting the one against whom it will launch its dart, or whom it will wound with its freshly composed venom.

Soon the king called to him from the extremities of England an immense troop of Welshmen, so that they might spread throughout the forest-covered lands, and that with their natural ferocity they devastate the territory of our kingdom by iron and fire; for here are the particular habits of the Gallois, among all the indigenous peoples of England, habits to which they remain faithful from the first times of their existence: instead of houses they live in the woods, they prefer war to peace, they are quick to anger and light-footed in running in places where there are no paths; their feet are not shod with soles, nor their legs with boots; they are trained to suffer cold and do not shrink from any fatigue; they wear short clothing and do not burden their bodies with any kind of armor; they do not wrap their flanks in a cuirass, they do not cover their head with a helmet, they carry no other weapons than those with which they can give death to the enemy, the club with the javelin, spears, pikes, a two-edged axe, a bow, arrows, knotty darts or the lance. They delight in constantly taking plunder, in shedding blood, and rarely do they die otherwise than by a violent death, following wounds; if someone has the right to reproach another that his own father died unavenged by death, it is for this one the height of dishonor. Cheese, butter and poorly cooked meats are considered by the most important among them the most delicious feast; they press their meats several times in the half-open trunk of a tree, and often eat them after having only expressed the blood. Meats serve them as bread, instead of wine they drink milk. These men therefore, ravaging our territory on all the points where they found free access, horribly tormented the old men and young people, the children and their parents. However, at the entrance to the valley of Andely, our army, having wisely deployed its squadrons in front and behind the valley, so tightly hemmed in these Gauls, that in a single day three thousand four hundred were seen to perish.

This event violently moved King Richard, and he could not contain in his heart the terrible anger that agitated him. At that moment he happened to have three Frenchmen chained in his prisons: as soon as he learned of the slaughter of his own, in his fury he had these three men thrown from the bank of the Seine, from the top of a rock on which he later had the ramparts of Château-Gaillard built, and plunging them by an iniquitous judgment into the abyss of death, he had these men perish who had deserved nothing of the sort, and who, falling, had all their bones and nerves of their bodies broken. Then, and in the same prison, he had the eyes of fifteen more men torn out, giving them as a guide a man to whom he had left one eye, so that he might lead them in this state to the King of the French. The latter, animated by a just anger, had the same torture inflicted on an equal number of Englishmen, and having them released from prison at the same time, sent them to the King of the English, under the guidance of the wife of one of them, and he also had three others thrown from the top of a rock, so that no one might believe him inferior to Richard in strength or courage, or think that he feared him. He also took care of those who had lost their sight because of him, and their gave them, to help them, the things they might need, so that they would have enough of what is necessary for the sustenance of life.

From there Richard, crossing well-watered valleys, went to cross the river Epte at the ford, entered the territory of Beauvais, and after having killed many people, carried off immense booty in men and beasts. The Bishop of Beauvais6 rushed to meet him, and with him the noble Guillaume, lord of Mellot, wishing at least to try to defend their homeland; but they were so enveloped by the band of Mercadier, that both of them, fighting thus for their country, were taken prisoner, loaded with chains, and thrown into a prison, where they suffered for a long time all sorts of torments. This same bishop was the illustrious son of Robert7, who was himself a royal scion of Louis the Fat, so that this son was the king’s first cousin; but neither his dignity as a prelate of the church, nor the sacred order to which he was bound, nor his personal valor, nor the renown of such a birth, were of any help to prevent him from being confined like the lowest soldier of the common people in a prison for criminals, and from languishing miserably for several years.

A short time after these events, the brother of the Count of Flanders, who was himself by his own right Count of Namur, while he was traversing the environs of Sens with many knights of his country, was taken prisoner, and with him sixteen knights who accompanied him. The king’s friends, who defended this region in his name, defeated them in a battle and forced them to receive chains.

However, the King of England, unable to contain all the joy he felt at the capture of the bishop, burned with the desire to give battle to his lord, whatever the decree of fate might be. Having with him fifteen hundred armed knights, forty thousand lower-ranking combatants and Marchader’s innumerable bands, and having learned with certainty that the king was heading almost alone towards the walls of Gisors, Richard flooded the plains and valleys surrounding Courcelles with his knights, all armed with helmets, and arranged his armed cohorts in good order in the fields of Vexin, so that Philip could find no open path to reach Gisors, as he had planned.

The latter, unaware of this stratagem, and not even knowing where the King of England was, had left all his troops in the castle of Mantes, and, fearing nothing for himself, had taken with him only forty-four knights and a hundred men-at-arms. They had already passed Courcelles, whose ramparts the King of England had overthrown and taken captive the lord, named Robert, who had received a terrible wound to the head. As soon as the French saw the valleys all filled with warriors, whose glittering arms redoubled the sun’s brilliance in the fields, they were seized with stupor, and could find no way out of their predicament, neither to the right nor to the left. The king, always intrepid, followed the path he saw before him, when Manassé de Malvoisin, a strong man in the council, and even more strongly in combat, stopped him by the bridle of his horse, and, his soul filled with fury, addressed these words to him:

“Where are you rushing, O you who will perish? What help can our arms lend you? Why do you seem to want to deliver yourself with all your men to the blows of blind fortune? How will such a weak troop dare to fight so many thousands of men, in such a way as to defend its life for only an hour? Alexander did not lead so many Greeks to battle; Xerxes (although it is reported that his army exhausted rivers when it took a meal) did not cross the sea near Mount Athos with as many ships as there are men waiting for you there. Do you not see then how all the paths are already occupied, and that there is no way out in the valleys or in the fields for us to pass? So then, as soon as possible, while we are allowed to do so, and before the enemy does not yet surround us on all sides, let us turn back quickly, and retreat to a place of safety. Or rather, go away alone, without any feeling of shame stopping you, while we will fight to resist the enemy. Our death will be only a slight loss, but in you rest the hope and glory of the whole kingdom; you alone remaining safe and sound, France has nothing to fear.”

He would have said more, but the king, transported with anger:

“Far from me,” he cried, “that I abandon my enterprise for any enemy whatsoever, or that I turn my back to march as a fugitive. This royal road must lead me to Gisors. Far be it from us that, in our kingdom, a stranger could frighten us! If all paths are refused to us, if the fields and valleys are closed to us, so that we can find no way to go further, let each one make his way with his sword through the enemies. Let our swords be our guides to accomplish the journey we have undertaken. Far be it from us that a fault could be reproached to the King of the French! Valor is not measured by number, but by the heart of the warriors.”

He spoke, and rushed with brilliant courage into the midst of the battalions; all the children of France advanced with similar agility, moving as one man: each one cleared a passage with his gleaming sword; and in a short time, putting the enemies to flight, overthrowing and killing a great number, they led the king, who always marched along his straight path, as he had promised, into the plain. So while the king went on, without having received any wound, the enemy fled, discontent, and seeing only with sorrow their defeat and the triumph of the latter, who continued his march.

Meanwhile, the most illustrious of the children of the French nation continued to fight, doing much harm to the enemies, and staining the grass with their blood. But, while such a small number of men cannot triumph over so many thousands of adversaries, and although they know well that they cannot trust the deceptive face of fortune, most of them, not knowing how to yield, stubbornly fight, unwilling to be vanquished, and are held prisoner by the enemy. Thus were captured Matthieu de Marle, Philippe de Nanteuil, Pierre, nicknamed “the Sow”, Gautier, who was known as “de la Porte”, and ninety-two other great, young men illustrious in war, all decorated with the rank of knights, of distinguished birth, and bearing famous names. Furthermore, the bridge of Gisors, by which one reaches the iron gate, being unable to support all those who rushed upon it in a rapid charge, collapsed, and carried several warriors into the river. The king’s horse crossed the river, and arrived with the king on the opposite bank, without any accident: of all those who followed him, the king lost no one, either drowned in the river, or killed on the battlefield. As for the King of England, regarding himself as a victor with his ninety-two captive knights, after taking a few moments of rest, he headed towards Château-Gaillard, joyful and triumphant, and barely able to contain his excitement.

Oh! how ignorant is the heart of man of the things to come! Alas! how blind he is, he who never remembers past events, who never fears those of the future, who takes no precautions against what must happen, and cares only for the present! This very victory, O Richard, will turn to ill for you; soon it will come to pass that you will regret having won it, and having fought in one way or another against your lord (with which your mother had instructed you never to come to blows, teaching you on the contrary to render him honor respectfully), when a rough bolt having struck you in the middle of the body, death will knock at your door, since neither the Passion of Christ, nor the sacred time of Lent, can turn you away from combat. Such is the death that awaits you before Chalus8 he who must be your murderer! Why do you rejoice imprudently? why do you pride yourself on your victory? Fool, what are these transports? what vain glory seduces you? you burst with joy for the present, and you do not consider what the hour of tomorrow may bring you, what end can put a stop to your momentary joy, how deceptive glory is, how mobile is the destiny of man! wisdom alone measures the end of all things. Why do you not offer fervent thanks to the Lord? Why do you attribute to yourself alone what he has granted in his good will for you? You are foolish if you think that the same thing can return ceaselessly, that present circumstances never change, as if fortune remained obstinately in the same place! Do you not know the whims of this sovereign? those whom she raises highest, all of a sudden she makes them fall lowest by a more terrible fall. Mobile fate always leaves in obscurity him who has fallen behind him. The heart swells and exalts before the ruin that overwhelms the imprudent, and when he has fallen unexpectedly, he is delivered to a torment that the man who, by his own actions, has prepared for himself all these evils, so that he who trusts too much in himself, and has not wanted to become wise through his faults, may learn finally through punishment how humble he should have shown himself in triumph. But pride above all must be repressed more severely, when the mercy of God has subjected an enemy to us, when God has given to those who do not deserve them the honors of a fragile world, for fear that we may not lose at once both the gifts of him who gives, and him who alone gives and takes away all these things. This king, to whom you boast rashly of having inspired fear, whom you believe to have vanquished, has rather vanquished yourself; and when he made his way himself with his sword through the army that sought in vain to stop him, striking with confusion you and yours, and triumphant, invincible in war, over you and yours, he truly gained much more honor by escaping all your forces with so few knights, than you could acquire by stopping a few knights with such a large number of men. It is therefore to him that this triumph belongs, and it is no longer yours.

Already some time had passed since these events; it was beyond mid-Lent, and the faithful people were preparing to celebrate the venerable Passion of Christ, when, far away, in the territory of Limoges, a prodigious event occurred. In the land of Chalus, a certain peasant, placed under the orders of a lord named Achard, was tilling the land with his plow, to sow vetch or millet there, when he found a hidden treasure in the plowed field; and having found it, he went to reveal it to his lord. The latter secretly took the gold, having with him only a small number of witnesses, according to what those who love to tell false stories report. This event became known to Richard, through the accounts of gossiping fame, which always adds great things to lesser things, and which delights, in its chatter, in mixing the false with the true. Delighted by these agreeable reports, Richard, neglecting all other care, applied himself solely to this matter, in order to bring Achard, in one way or another, either by force or by affection, to hand over the treasure he had discovered. First, therefore, he wrote to him, but without obtaining any result. Then he gathered his cohorts, and arrived with great clamor beneath the ramparts of Chalus, uttering horrible threats, and declaring that he would destroy everything if Achard did not deliver the gold he had found as soon as possible.

However, Achard begs and asks for a truce for the holy days, until at least the solemnity of Easter has passed. He declares himself perfectly innocent of the crime and ignorant of the fact that the king imputes it to him; but he promises that he will very willingly submit to whatever the court of France, which must govern according to its laws the great men of the kingdom and Richard himself, decides on this subject. The king, more and more furious, remains deaf to all these propositions, does not even accept reasons, and listens neither to justice nor to equity. What pleases him is also what he judges just, and at the same time he makes the greatest efforts to seize the castle. Already the greater part of the walls has fallen; the tower itself is shaken, and Achard will soon have nothing left to to defend themselves. But they have reached the point where despair gives strength, which happens when the last misfortune overwhelms the unfortunate, and when they can finally fear no greater misfortunes. Six knights and nine servants still fight in the tower, and deploy all their forces to defend the castle. The more they see that it becomes impossible for them to escape death, the more audacious they show themselves in resisting death by fighting; no fear manifests itself where there is no longer any hope of salvation. If they find no other projectile under their hands, they throw planks, beams, debris from the tower, and, by throwing all sorts of things, they constantly reduce the number of their enemies. Meanwhile, Atropos addresses these words to her two sisters, Clotho and Lachesis:

“Why, Clotho, why do you provide Lachesis with so much to spin for the use of King Richard? What good is it to have taken so much trouble for one who does not deserve it? For one whom our patience, as I see it, makes too proud, whom our good deeds make rebellious towards us, who hopes too much to abuse our gifts, as if he were always to conquer, as if I should never have the power to break, when I wish, the thread you spin; he who, driven by his excessive greed, dares to despise the most holy days and the blessed time that the Father who thunders in the heavens consecrated with the blood of his own Son, and who gave us to be his ministers; he, finally, who has so many times broken the treaties he had concluded with his lord, and who but recently still wished to seize his person. I pass over in silence the frauds committed by him in the land of Syria and in the kingdom of Palermo; I keep silent about the grievance of having so often disregarded the rights of nature. What are, Clotho, these murmurs that answer my voice? you, who are nothing but the force by which the sovereign Father calls everything into existence, in its time, and as it pleases Him; so that you only have the power to hold the distaff, and nothing beyond. And you, Lachésis, what are you other than the fate by which this same Creator guides what is already produced, makes it vegetate, and directs it through existence? But in me, who dominates over all things, there is no change, nothing can hinder me: my force strips of existence all that comes into existence through you, or traverses existence. But enough, the irrevocable word of the Father urges me. Make, Clotho, make your distaff learn to stop; make, Lachésis, that this spindle you turn with your thumb ceases to swell. You can more usefully furnish your spindles for this Philip, who respects both us and our Father, who presents his homage everywhere, and honors his ministers everywhere. Why do you tremble, Achard? why are you afraid? your tower is at its last extremity, it fears the fall, and already it is delivered. Behold, I come to your aid: what do you say, that there are no more arrows? look at the wall; under this still firm beam, next to you, hangs a short arrow, with a square point, that Richard sent. against you, desiring to strike you with a sudden death. Present this arrow to Gui9, who carries a crossbow, so that he may send back to Richard what Richard has sent: I want Richard to perish from this death, and not from another, so that he who first showed the children of France the use of the crossbow, may himself experience it, and feel within himself the force of the instrument whose practice he taught to others.”

Atropos has spoken; her words pleased her two sisters; Clotho leaves her distaff, and Lachesis renounces her thoughts.

Meanwhile, Richard continues to go back and forth incessantly around the walls of the fort: Gui, having recognized him from the top of the citadel, turns the nut of his crossbow with his left thumb, presses the trigger with his right hand; the string vibrated, and behold, the fatal arrow entered the king’s shoulder. Suddenly, a sound of mourning spreads throughout the camp; every knight sadly returns to his tent; the young men, laying down their arms, abandon themselves to lamentations; they carry the king back to his royal couch, and the soldiers, overcome by grief, attack only weakly. Forgetting the battles, they shed tears and no longer arrows. The besieged give themselves over to transports of their joy; already Achard no longer hides; having no more fear, he delights in walking the ramparts with his companions in arms, for already the enemy had withdrawn.

Meanwhile, the troops pressed pell-mell around the king. The doctors applied soothing balms, the surgeons cut into the wound to remove the iron with less danger. The blow was not mortal; but the king refused to listen to the salutary advice of the doctors and his friends, and preferring the evil joys of pleasure to the counsels of the wise, he drew death upon himself without suspecting it. Already Atropos had broken the thread of his life. So, the invincible king was dissolved by death, this king, such that none of those who had borne the scepter of the English would have been better than him if he had taken care to keep his faith to the king to whom the law obliged him to submit, and if he had had the fear of the supreme king. The clergy of the church of Rouen enclosed his heart in gold and silver, deposited it amidst the sacred bodies of saints, in the edifice consecrated to this use, and rendered him devoutly the greatest honors, so that the devotion of such an illustrious church might publicly attest how much it had cherished during his life the one whose manes it still deigned to honor. The head and the rest of the body were buried at Fontevrault, next to the king his father. Oh! how changeable is the state of kingdoms, and how often dissimilar are the chiefs who fall to empires! Richard was succeeded by John, a man such that none in the world was worse than him, and who was devoid of all good sentiment. Brother of Richard, he succeeded his brother by an injustice of fate, for Arthur should rather have succeeded Richard, since he was the son of John’s elder brother. Blind fate was against him, for often the decrees of destiny show themselves opposed to the judgments of men.

Here my muse, complaining of the weariness of these odious cares, said to me:

“I am tired and want to rest again. This song wants to be finished at the same time that such a great king finishes: so make this song and Richard have the same end. My fatigue invites me to take a few moments of rest.”

Remove one year, and the death of King Richard is marked in the year twelve hundred since the birth of Christ.

The laziness of the spirit always finds words of excuse for the lazy, and does not seek to present to it cares for which it would want to renounce its softness and endure fatigues, nor which could make it the host always eager for courage, which, exempt from softness, delights in being the companion of fatigue. Let us therefore take a moment of rest; but let this moment be short, for fear that, if too long a delay turned into habit, the spirit might become languid and finally be captive and dominated by laziness.

A crusade song written around 1189, expressing the agony of leaving his lady behind to join Philip Augustus and Richard the Lionheart on the Third Crusade
— Ahi! Amours, Conon de Bethune, a trouvere of Philip Augustus’ court.

Guillaume le Breton (William the Breton) was a poet / chronicler in service to King Philip Augustus, the longstanding “frenemy” of Richard the Lionheart. William’s Philippide is a Latin epic poem in 12 books recounting Philip’s exploits. It contains incidents not covered by other contemporary histories of Richard and the Third Crusade. (I have produced eBook versions of the other major chronicles of the Third Crusade, see here. While our focus on this blog is Philip’s role in Richard’s life, Philip was deeply influential on France’s history. For example, he constructed the first incarnation of the Louvre (as a fortress), built Les Halles, was influential in the construction of Notre Dame, and, after Richard’s death, defeated Richard’s brother John, increasing the boundaries of France more-or-less to today’s borders.

The composition date of the Philippide is unknown, but it was somewhere between 1214 and 1225, when William died. Of even more interest is the wealth of detail on the war between Richard and Philip that ensued after the Crusade.

I was particularly interested to read Books IV and V of the Philippide, as it covers the period from when Richard became King of England after his father’s death until the time he died at Chalus. As it turns out, there is no full English translation of the Philippide. The Latin original (see on Internet Archive) was translated into French by François Guizot in Collection des mémoires relatifs a l’histoire de France (Internet Archive) in 1825. Recently, I created Bookxlate, which uses Gemini’s AI APIs to OCR and translate books from the Internet Archive. I used it to translate Books IV and V; as far as I am aware, it is the only English translation of this work. Yay for AI!

The translation is posted below. I based my work on the French version; this is a translation of a translation. The translation presented below is generated by AI; and I do not speak French or Latin, so I cannot strictly vouch for the fidelity of the translation, but everything I have checked by hand seems correct enough. Caveat emptor.

The full translation below may be a bit much for many people, so let me point out some things I find interesting from it: for example, the language is flowery and metaphorical at times, almost Odyssey-like (which I am also re-reading at present in preparation for Nolan’s new movie).

and when his fleet was all ready, abandoning itself to the breath of the zephyr (the wind),

…

(during a storm at sea:) No one tried to contradict him; each on the contrary hastened to throw his belongings into the water, preferring to lose what belonged to him than to lose life without receiving burial, and to feed the fish with his possessions rather than his person;

Richard and Philip are quite friendly in this account, often in contradiction to other accounts:

Here are two kings whom the same affection, the same spirit, the same faith unite and bind so closely to one another, that one loves or does only what the other loves or does equally…

and further, after their break, there was a time which Richard presented as quite friendly to Philip, again in contrast to other accounts:

(after the siege of Acre:) But the Catholic king (Philip) did not want to enjoy such a great triumph alone before the arrival of the King of the English, to whom he had promised to always be a faithful companion as long as both consecrated themselves with the same zeal.

…

…Richard renounced remaining armed, and without any other warning, if not from him who holds in his hands the hearts and arms of powerful men, he placed himself at the disposal of his lord (Philip) and declared himself ready to obey him in all things.

William the Breton is also very complimentary to Richard, surprisingly (his boss is Richard’s enemy), recalling his “brilliant valor” and “lion-hearted” speech, amongst other compliments.

But rest assured, Richard and Philip will become enemies for life; here’s Philip:

I grant you a truce of safety as long as you bear arms for the service of the cross; later, fear me and mine.”

The account of Richard breaking his betrothal to Alice, Philip’s half-sister (how wild, to be engaged to your enemy’s sister!), and subsequent marriage to Berengaria, is different than usually recounted, and a bit, ahem, direct, about the state of affairs between them (and this account suggests Richard and Berengaria are already married by the time Richard is in Sicily, whereas all other accounts have them getting married in Cyprus):

I return your sister to you, and, I beg you, please do not ask me the secret motive1 that leads me to this step. She was married only by betrothal; there is nothing more, I have never known her according to the flesh. Bérengère has already united with my bed, Bérengère daughter of the king of Navarre; already the union of the flesh has confirmed the holy sacrament, and we are no longer but one flesh.

We find here listed the account where Richard tramples the Duke of Austria’s banner at Acre, creating another lifelong enemy, an event only alluded to in other accounts.

The Philippide also contains the only account (so far as I can remember) of the words Richard spoke at his “trial” at the hands of Henry VI the Holy Roman Emperor (and where he is referred to as “lion-hearted” ), and also claims Richard himself proposed the famous ransom of 150,000 marks. The account is particularly valuable as William is believed to have been present at the trial.

Richard could not bear this language any longer; and, as if he were seated on the throne of his ancestors, or in the court of Lincoln, or in the midst of the city of Caen, as if he had forgotten the garment under which he was held prisoner, with a royal and eloquent mouth and a lion’s heart, he suddenly spoke:

“Let him who accuses me of treason appear, let him present himself fully armed, let him consent to a duel with me, to try if he can convince me on this point.”

The Philippide also recounts the story of the treasure at Chalus which allegedly lured Richard to his death, an account which most historians do not credit.

I hope you enjoy the translation. This post contains Book IV, and our next post will contain Book V. (The footnotes in the text are the original footnotes from the 1825 edition, not mine.)

CANTO FOURTH.

ARGUMENT.

The death of Henry passes the scepter into the hands of Richard, who soon after sets out for Jerusalem with King Philip. — They spend the winter in the territory of Sicily, from where their quarrels prevent them from departing together. — Cyprus submits to the English, the city of Acre to the children of France; the cities of Gaza, Ascalon and Jaffa submit to the two kings. — Philip falls ill and returns to his homeland. — Richard, returning also, is taken prisoner, but he is ransomed from captivity and resists with great valor the French who wage war against him. — John causes Frenchmen to perish through horrible treachery. — Gautier re-establishes the lost charters of the royal domain.

IN ACCORDANCE with ancient laws, the right of primogeniture made Richard king of the English, after the death of his father. Having ascended the throne, he remained firm in his love for Philip, and honored him respectfully as his lord. For an entire year, no discord arose between them, and sweet peace established good relations between the two kingdoms.

However, the king, eager to fulfill his vow to Christ, which he had offered with holy intentions, hastened to work on it, took all his measures with vigilant care, and prepared all the things that might be necessary for such a great enterprise and for a voyage of such long duration. He took with him warriors full of vigor, as much as he thought he needed for such a great affair, all elite men, and proven in their homeland for war as well as for peace.

It was in the year 1190 that King Philip departed for the kingdoms beyond the seas. Having had loaded onto his innumerable ships grains, vegetables, silver, meats, gold, goods, horses, weapons, hardtack and wine, and when his fleet was all ready, abandoning itself to the breath of the zephyr, he departed from the Italian city which illustrated the name of Genoa. Sailing for three weeks on the waves of the Tyrrhenian Sea, having Rome on his left, to his right the forts of Carthage, after having endured several storms, escaped from great perils, and suffered considerable losses, he finally landed on the coast of Sicily.

While the fleet was sailing along the Strait of Messina, a storm having suddenly arisen, the vessels were on the point of perishing, and would have been swallowed by the waves if the prudent pilot had not thrown into the sea horses, grains, provisions and barrels full of wine. No one tried to contradict him; each on the contrary hastened to throw his belongings into the water, preferring to lose what belonged to him than to lose life without receiving burial, and to feed the fish with his possessions rather than his person; and no one considered as a loss any means of delaying, even for a short time, the hour of his death. The ships thus unloaded, already past the middle of the night, the storm still raged with the same violence, the terrifying aspect of the atmosphere made them despair of any means of salvation; the thunder, the clouds, and thick darkness hid the sight of the stars; frequent flashes of lightning alone came to interrupt this scene and bring terror to all hearts; then the king, deploying the strength of his soul, consoled with these words those who were thus struck with stupor:

“Let all your fears cease; behold, God visits us from the heavens, behold, the storm is retreating; already the brothers of Clairvaux have risen for matins; already the saints who do not forget you, render their holy oracles in honor of Christ; their prayers reconcile us with Christ, their prayers will deliver us from this great peril.”

He had barely spoken, and already all the crashing and tumult of the atmosphere subside, the fury of the winds calms, the darkness dissipates, and the moon and the stars spread a brilliant light. Thus all having found salvation after the king’s words, the night retreats, a favorable wind pushes the fleet under the protection of God; and finally, after having suffered considerable losses, the travelers, filled with joy, escape the peril and enter the port of salvation, shouting cries of joy. Then the king, opening his treasures, distributed his gifts on all sides, in order to make the champions of Christ forget the losses they had suffered, and that none of them should lack horses or fodder to feed them.

On his side, King Richard, no less eager than Philip for the service of the cross (for he was bound, by right and by oath, to associate himself with this enterprise), departed from the city of Marseille so well supplied with goods and arms, and followed by so many elite men, that he seemed inferior neither to Philip nor for the forces nor for all the other provisions he might need. From there, rapidly led over the waves of the Tuscan sea, he landed with a numerous fleet in the ports of Sicily, having suffered no damage, and his arrival renewed the joys of the French and of King Philip, who had just gone to Messina, and had been staying in that city for a short time. The Sicilians then gave themselves over to their transports, all of Sicily rejoiced to welcome such guests, followed by so many armies. King Tancred paid them the greatest honors; he then held the scepter of rich Sicily, which he had skillfully seized by uniting artifice with violence.

King William had died very recently2, and his wife Joanna rejoiced to have Richard as a brother; but she had no child who could console her in her widowhood and serve as heir to the deceased king. His sister, Constance3, claimed after his death to have the right to succeed him, since he left no child; but Tancred, who was the uncle of the deceased king4, would not suffer Constance to seize the scepter of her fathers, claiming without any right to succeed his nephew, and having himself recognized as king, to the prejudice of his aunt. She, however, when she married King Henry, who a short time later was elevated to the Roman Empire, became Queen of Sicily, with the assistance of her new husband. Adorned at once with the diadem of an empire and that of a kingdom, she also managed to be reinstated in her rights: it is she who later gave life to Frederick, who now reigns and governs the Teutons, the Romans, and the Sicilians.

Alas! how easily the human heart is changed, how susceptible it shows itself to various movements, when it allows itself to be seduced by the artifices of the instigator of all iniquity! This one, always at war against love and always suffering hatred, sows division among friends, disunites by his cunning those he sees tenderly united, in order to subdue by separating those he cannot conquer when they are bound by a reciprocal love, and when they stand firm without imprudently bending to let pass him who has the power to deceive only those who yield before him to let him pass. We too are too easy to yield to him, to him who has no right over us other than that which we grant him; moreover, when we wish it, and as many times as we are tempted by him, we have enough within us to resist him with the strength that divine power lends us, and no one is pushed to be wicked if he does not voluntarily welcome the enemy: our will alone submits us to the tempter, and if we do not have this will, there is no sin in us.

Here are two kings whom the same affection, the same spirit, the same faith unite and bind so closely to one another, that one loves or does only what the other loves or does equally, so much does their reciprocal affection attach them to one another; but such great tenderness cannot long subsist between them. Richard, having found a favorable occasion, revealed what he kept hidden in the depths of his heart, and spoke to Philip in these terms:

“Good king, whom France obeys, whose knight I am, to whose arms my vows bind me, to whom I recognize myself as committed as to my lord, before whom Egypt and the land of Palestine tremble, whose cross and the Lord’s sepulchre await help, whose uttered name makes Saladin pale, to whom the already vanquished Parthians stretch out their arms, under whose banners the ramparts of Acre bow, I beg you, that the words I am about to tell you do not displease you. I return your sister to you, and, I beg you, please do not ask me the secret motive that leads me to this step5. She was married only by betrothal; there is nothing more, I have never known her according to the flesh. Bérengère has already united with my bed, Bérengère daughter of the king of Navarre; already the union of the flesh has confirmed the holy sacrament, and we are no longer but one flesh. There is absolutely no reason for me to send her away, since she is now bound to me both by flesh and by law. But there are counts, there are barons, O venerable king, to one of whom your sister may be united by a stronger bond.”

The king remains struck with stupor and keeps silence, so great is his anger. Soon however he responds to Richard in a few words:

“If you return my sister to me, you must likewise return to me all of my sister’s dowry. It was given to you with her as a dowry; now it must be returned to me, since my sister is returning to me. But for the moment I make no complaint and do not demand anything; I do not wish to threaten. A greater work calls us. Let us finish without quarrel the enterprise that urges us, let us devote ourselves unreservedly to the service of the cross and to the glory of him who took away the sins of the world, and for the love of whom we have come as pilgrims to foreign shores. I grant you a truce of safety as long as you bear arms for the service of the cross; later, fear me and mine.”

The king’s words are accepted by Richard, he does not ask for anything more; the truce granted to him suffices. From that moment, however, he no longer showed himself openly to Philip nor to his men, and on his part Philip no longer had the same goodwill towards him. After they had spent five winter months in the country of Sicily, our king invited the King of England to set out with him and go to bring aid to the Sepulchre of the Lord, as he had pledged by oath. But Richard did not want to leave, and remained in Sicily, lending his assistance to King Tancred for the wars in which he was engaged on all sides. At the beginning of spring, King Philip, followed by his Frenchmen, thus entrusted his sails to the breath of the zephyrs, and leaving Greece to his left, Paros island to his right, happily passing the islands of Crete and Cyprus, he went to disembark in the city of Accaron, on the eve of Holy Easter, thus guided by divine grace, so that he could celebrate on solid ground the solemnity of this sacred day. Already he had been preceded in Accaron by the illustrious Jacques d’Avesne, of brilliant valor, who, having with him only a small number of men, had audaciously besieged this city, placing all his confidence in the Lord, who, in his goodness, did indeed send him timely and very precious aid, for the Lord is always favorable to those who trust in him.

The French, having disembarked from their ships, rejoice to set foot on solid ground, and go leaping and stretching their bodies on the sand. Joyful after the prolonged weariness of a sea voyage, they eagerly seize the shore, and breathe a purer air which restores their health within, and the air of gaiety and vigor without. At the same time, they hasten, vying with each other, to pitch their tents in the plain and in the valleys, and they invest the city from all sides, so that no one can leave, and no one can come to relieve it by bringing arms or provisions from outside; then they proceed to enclose the entire perimeter of their camp behind deep entrenchments and ditches, and at the same time they erect at various points tall three-story machines and wooden towers, so that Saladin cannot attack them by surprise, for he did not cease to engage in frequent battles with the servants of Christ, and to harass them night and day, although he always retreated vanquished and overwhelmed with confusion; he had no shame in being constantly beaten, in fleeing shamefully after a defeat, and in losing in these successive engagements the men who were dearest to him, only grieving that he could not give the besieged any salutary advice, nor relieve them in an advantageous manner.

Richard, however, did not stay long in Sicily. From there he went to Cyprus, and having besieged this island for two months, he subdued it by his brilliant valor and for his own account, and having seized it, he also took prisoner the prince who governed it. Although Christ was recognized and adored there according to the Greek rite, the country of Cyprus nevertheless repelled the servants of Christ who had taken the cross, refused to bring aid to the Lord’s sepulchre, and favored the Saracens. After thus triumphing over Cyprus, Richard, laden with gold and spoils, hastened to Acre, whose walls were already overthrown on all sides, and whose inhabitants urgently demanded to surrender, under the sole condition of having their lives saved. At this price Saladin had already committed to the King of the French, Philip, to return all the servants of Christ held in harsh captivity by the Saracens, and to restore the holy cross. But the Catholic king did not want to enjoy such a great triumph alone before the arrival of the King of the English, to whom he had promised to always be a faithful companion as long as both consecrated themselves with the same zeal. in the service of the Cross; and he awaited his companion to share with him the honor that the clemency of Christ had granted to him alone, by the invincible force of a race invincible in war, and which had covered itself with its own blood for the service of Christ.

After this the Syrian did not want, or perhaps could not keep his word and fulfill the promises he had made to Philip. Consequently Richard, his heart swollen with righteous anger, had (without Philip offering any opposition) all the servants of Mahomet whom he found imprisoned in the city, to the number of twelve thousand6, beheaded and sent to Tartarus.

The city having been repaired and provided with defenders, all the streets and the surrounding countryside were distributed among the servants of Christ, and the pilgrims built new churches in which they could adore the name of Christ. Affairs and these places immediately took on a cheerful and entirely new aspect: soon the name of Mahomet was banished from all mouths, and throughout the land the cult of the Catholic faith was openly established everywhere.

Eleven hundred ninety-one years had passed since God had become man, when the French race, led by its king Philip, seized the city of Accaron, which surrendered on the eleventh day of July.

The army, having departed from this place, advanced joyfully to overthrow the walls of Ascalon, where was born formerly that Herod who delivered to death one hundred forty-four thousand children, fearing to lose his kingdom by the birth of the eternal prince, and believing he would cause Christ to perish among so many other children. From there, and under the leadership of Richard, the pilgrims triumphed over Joppa and Gaza, cities formerly illustrated by brilliant exploits. The former was once made famous by that centurion who, yielding to the invitations of the angel, adopted the teachings of Peter, and deserved to be purified and reborn in the sacred waters of baptism; the other city was often attacked and beaten in illustrious battles by Samson, endowed with a strength that had never been and was never, in the sequel, given to any man. After having struck it with numerous calamities, Samson carried away in his arms the leaves of its gates, all resplendent with brass and covered with banners, and went to stop on the summit of a high mountain; then, blinded by the artifices of his wife, he finally died, killing by his death a greater number of men than he had overthrown enemies during his life.

This event shows us that Christ, by giving us life through his death, crucified our death on his own cross; that by dying for his church, which he chose himself among the nations, he broke the barriers and the iron gates, and that seizing in his strength the weapons of the armed and vigorous enemy, he then ascended into the heavens, victorious and laden with spoils. But Judea has not not yet deserved to see the face of the new Moses, since it gathers from the law the straw and not the good grain.

Amidst these events, Philip, surrounded by a small number of his own, afflicted with a strong fever, and often overwhelmed by a painful trembling, was sick and confined to his bed in the city of Acaron. Violent sweats, terrible fevers, wrought such great havoc in his bones and in all his limbs, that the nails fell from all his fingers, and the hair from his head, so that it was believed, and this rumor is not yet dispelled, that he had tasted a deadly poison. Divine goodness, however, spared him for us, so that mutilated France would not have to deplore so promptly the loss of its prince, whose assiduous care was to make it enjoy in the future the benefits of a long peace. Nevertheless, he languished for a long time: by force of time, however, he began to recover little by little and slowly in convalescence, and as he could not fully recover, he finally decided, upon the invitation of the great lords, his friends, and the advice of the doctors, to return to his country and to the places of his birth; but before departing, he gave to five hundred knights, and from his own treasury, the necessary sums to cover all their expenses for three years, taking care in addition to add ten thousand foot soldiers, wishing them all to work with the same zeal and the same fidelity to fight in his place for the sepulchre of the Lord, and entrusting to the Duke of the Allobroges7 the care of commanding them.

After having provided with a vigilant spirit for all these arrangements, the king, taking advantage of a favorable wind, resumed his sea route. Arrived in Rome, he was received with the greatest honors by Pope Celestine, the third of that name, who governed in that city, and who, born of the illustrious blood of kings, was also united to the king, in the third degree of kinship. After he had been very honorably entertained by the fathers and the sacred college, he finally took leave, and crossing the steep peaks of Radicofani, passing over hills all covered with mud and impassable, where a traveler can barely go or return, leaving behind him the laurels of Montecchio and the summit of Mount Bardon, close to the sky, he entered the plain of Liguria; from there, painfully crossing the ladders of Mount Cenis and the Maurienne valley, difficult and dangerous passages, he finally discovered Burgundy. After having taken some rest in this country to relax from his journey across dreadful rocks, along the Cottian Alps and beyond the rivers Isère and Rhône, where no ford is found, he finally arrived home around the middle of November (for which we give thanks to God), safe and sound, his face smiling, and having regained the usual glow of his complexion.

Meanwhile, the King of England had lost Gaza and Jaffa, either by voluntarily abandoning them, or because they had been taken from him by force, for he sent writings to Saladin, and the latter sent them to him in turn, and even Saladin often succeeded in appeasing him with numerous gifts. Already the counts Thibaut of Blois and Philip of Flanders, already Count of Vendôme8 and those sent by Gien9, Clermont10 and Perche11, had seen their blessed souls depart from their earthen vessels. Sancerre had grieved over the funeral of the illustrious Stephen; Burgundy had mourned the loss of Hugh. Cruel death would not even spare James, and Avesnes was saddened by this deplorable death. Throughout the kingdom, one could barely find a place where someone did not have some reason to weep, either for the loss of their lord, or for that of a brother or some close relative: this one had to regret his children, that one his father; one lamented the death of his relatives, the other that of his friends; this one wept for his servant, that one his companion; one his uncles, the other his nephews, so great was the disaster that precipitated our great lords into the tomb, when they were all struck by death in the city of Accaron.

Then King Richard, having become odious to many men, thought of secretly abandoning this land. Hiding his royal dignity, and followed only by a few ships, he furrowed the sea, and having left the Ionian Sea he entered the Adriatic; then, sailing to the right, he landed on the coast of Illyria, and there, leaving his ships, he entered the territory of the Empire in the simple habit of a Templar, in order to travel with greater safety under this disguise. Indeed, he had offended many great lords, and as he feared a great number of them, he hid from many of them. He was recognized however by your duke12¹, of Austria, by this duke whose tents he had broken in the land of Syria, and whom he had overwhelmed with unworthy affronts13.

Alas! who can escape the unforeseen blows of fate and avoid the perils that destiny has assigned to him in advance? Often one falls by chance into violences worse than those prepared by cunning, and often it happens, by the chain of destinies, that an enemy encountered unexpectedly is more dangerous than one who seeks on all sides. What good is it to prepare dishes, to serve in the kitchen? What good is it for the lord to debase himself to the functions of a slave? What good is it for this king to have deviated from his path, to have changed clothes, to have made himself smaller than the least of servants? Marius found no profit in hiding in the marshes of Minturnae, nor did the son of Thetis, covered in shameful clothes, in mingling with the choirs of young girls in the court of Lycomedes. A king does not conceal himself any more than a mountain hides: royal majesty does not allow itself to be thus denied; whatever he did, the person of the king was revealed everywhere, and refusing to envelop itself in the desired darkness, it betrayed itself, not even finding a retreat amidst the shadows, and shining with all the splendor that is proper to him even in the most secret asylum. Thus, while hiding, the king was made prisoner by the very one he feared the most, and whom he most wanted to avoid; thus he was captured while hiding from one who was not looking for him at all, and who certainly had no hope of meeting him.

The previous year, the great Frederick, abhorring the long troubles of the sea, had set out for Jerusalem across the plains of Cilicia, having taken the cross with innumerable thousands of Teutons. As he was hastily heading towards Nicaea, after leaving the land of Antioch, burned by the sun and having wanted, during the midday heat, to imprudently bathe in the depths of a certain river, swallowed by the waters he suddenly became the prey of death. He thus having died, his son Henry, successor and heir to his paternal rights, ascended to the Empire. However, he was promoted there less by virtue of his rights of succession than by the aid of the election of the clergy and the magnates, for such is the order established among the Teutons that no one reigns over them unless he is first elected by the unanimous consent of the clergy and the magnates. Henry had thus succeeded his father in this manner, and he was staying in the city of Mainz when the Duke of Austria came to present the King of the English to him, and Henry spoke to him in these terms:

“Recently, friend of a usurping king, you waged war against us, having bound yourself by oath to the impious arms of Tancred, and you wanted to strip our wife of her father’s throne; recently also, groping in Syria for the treasures of Saladin, you delivered the servants of Christ to the enemies of the cross of Christ, suffering willingly that Gaza, Joppa and Ascalon were overthrown, without coming to blows and without combat, and you did not blush to cause some of the great men of my empire to die and to ill-treat a greater number. What’s more, you wanted to deliver to the Parthians your lord, the friend of our father and our brother, so that France, thus mutilated, would have to grieve the loss of its leader, and could not reclaim the things that belong to it by right and that you unjustly withhold.”

Richard could not bear this language any longer; and, as if he were seated on the throne of his ancestors, or in the court of Lincoln, or in the midst of the city of Caen, as if he had forgotten the garment under which he was held prisoner, with a royal and eloquent mouth and a lion’s heart, he suddenly spoke:

“Let him who accuses me of treason appear, let him present himself fully armed, let him consent to a duel with me, to try if he can convince me on this point. Certainly, my courage has not abandoned me to the point that someone could defeat me, when I trust in my right and in my accustomed vigor. Let what is prescribed by law be done. If the law does not favor me, I will not say another word to avoid death. If I fought for the rights of a sister, and if by You, Tancred finally returned to her what was due to her, I have not, by such conduct, offended your empire. Have pity, I beg you, of my travels and my fatigues; have pity of my homeland, which my brother devastates, alas! by wickedly inciting against me the arms of the children of France! While I remain here captive, King Philip overthrows my castles at will, destroys the ramparts of Gisors; already he has subjugated Pacy and Ivry-sur-Eure, already he has taken Beaumont-le-Roger and the castle of Lions. You are prince recently, wars threaten you, I see that you have a very great need of considerable sums and much money: if you wish to triumph over as many enemies as are now present, all ready to show themselves rebellious against you, I will give you one hundred thousand marks of silver, and I will recognize myself and my scepter as your vassals. My captivity is of no advantage to you; there is no glory in winning a victory over an unarmed king. Allow me then to go and bring aid to my kingdom, already too desolate.”

The prince approved these words and softened, and his consent was manifested by these few words:

“Do then as you have said, and go in liberty.”

Then the king confirmed his words by deeds; and, retiring free, he finally saw Sandwich again, after a long absence. England rejoiced at the arrival of its king; John then exiled himself from this country, and secretly attached himself to the King of the French. But already the Vaudreuil, at the point where the river Eure bathes the meadows of its divine waters, up to the places where, falling into a river of greater renown, it adopts itself a greater name, from places where far from there it receives into its bosom the graceful Orne, and gives it its name, up to the places where the Risle, flowing in the midst of smiling meadows, waters with a smile the countryside of Brionne, and all the territory finally which extends from there to the fountain of Serens, which takes its source from the river Epte, and fertilizes the gardens and the fields, before losing itself far away in the river Seine, already all this region had submitted to the powerful arms of the descendant of Charles. In his foresight, he filled the castles with arms and men, he had the moats surveyed, he rebuilt the overthrown citadels, so that every fortress would become much stronger than it had ever been before, and so as not to lose in an hour what he had acquired at the cost of so much effort. However, having fortified Evreux with even greater care, after having filled this city with a large number of arms and warriors, and with many provisions, he gave it to John, out of love for him, and so that he would keep it for him, without however delivering the citadel to him. This man, full of cunning, who had betrayed his father and more recently his brother, could not fail to betray the king as well. Surpassing all the tyrants of Sicily in wickedness of soul, John therefore invites to a feast all the children of France whom he could find in Evreux, and the knights, and the men-at-arms, with the exception of a small number, whom chance had kept in the citadel. These men therefore, having laid down their arms, the prince, after having gathered them all in a single house, where they believed they were gathering for dinner, suddenly calls, from the depths of their retreat, his armed Englishmen, and envelops three hundred men in a single massacre. Then, having had their heads attached to burning pikes, he parades them all around the city (a frightful spectacle), in order to add even more to the king’s grief by such a monstrous act, declaring by such deeds what gratitude he had for the thousand marks the king had given him.14

Formerly Horse and Hengist massacred in a similar manner all the Breton patricians whom they had treacherously invited to a feast, and whom they had surrounded with Englishmen: only one of them escaped, Eldon of Salisbury, who, having found, by a happy chance, a strong spear, and overthrowing a thousand enemies before him, saved himself, and, subsequently resuming the war, won victory over his enemies.

Stained by such a horrible carnage, John hastened to his brother; but such a criminal act could not please him. What man, indeed, unless he is possessed by the devil, absolutely abandoned by God, and that no virtue compensates for his vices, could delight in such cruel artifices, or pursue peace at the price of such a crime? But, as he was his brother, and as he detested an action equally detestable to all, Richard did not refuse him, although he was unworthy of it, his fraternal alliance, and did not withdraw his love from him who had recently wanted to strip him of his scepter.

At that time, the king had already been besieging the castle of Verneuil for three weeks, whose inhabitants, a race infinitely wicked and accustomed to provoking the French with their tongue, had, on the very gate of the castle, painted the figure of the king, armed with a mace, never ceasing to overwhelm this mute image of a living man with their insulting mockery. But in the end, they entirely renounced these bravadoes and all these grand speeches, and, with bowed heads, they respectfully honored the king, and humbly bore the yoke of the French, grieving to see themselves deprived of their walls and their superb towers, which the king had razed, in order to teach them, at their own expense, to repress the malice of their tongues.

However, as soon as the king was positively informed of John’s treason and the massacre of his people, he lifted the siege he had undertaken; and, spurred by the sting of anger, burning with the desire to exterminate his enemy, he first set fire to Evreux, and reduced that city to ashes, so much so that the flames devoured all the houses and all the churches. From there, setting fire to all the habitations, and devastating the countryside, he entered the country of Caux, and forced Richard to lift the siege of Arques. While the latter fled, the knights sustained fierce battles with the French, and defended themselves in the forest. In one of these battles, the illustrious John of Leicester, very renowned in the world for his fine exploits, gathering all his strength, struck Matthew of Marle and pierced his two thighs with his lance; and Matthew, striking him in turn in the chest, with the iron point of his spear (although blood flowed in abundance from his two thighs), forced him to mark the earth with the imprint of his immense body, and to suffer captivity, confessing himself vanquished. The other children of France did not emerge from this combat without glory, having taken twenty-five illustrious knights prisoner for their exploits and a large number of other enemies, and having killed even more.

Not far from there, was a very famous port and a city powerful in riches named Dieppe. Around the same time, the French went to plunder all its treasures, and, after having stripped it, they reduced it to ashes. Thus enriched, the army corps withdrew in triumph, as no one could say that there was any place or city that contained so many riches or such precious objects. As the French were returning from there, Richard, having positioned himself at the mouth of a certain forest, with many knights and lightly armed servants, in a place favorable for an ambush, inflicted much harm upon them, and took many men from their rearguard, all laden with spoils and booty. From there, quickly retreating towards Beaumont-le-Roger, on his territory, he entered Berry; the descendant of Charles followed him there with a rapid pursuit, and the Englishman, informed of his approach, prepared to set new ambushes for him.

Between Fretteval and the castle of Blois, there is a little-known place called Beaufour, somewhat lost in the middle of the woods, and deep in dark valleys. The king happened to be in this place with his barons; and towards the middle of the morning, he was taking his meal, while the troops marched with the chariots and horses laden with arms, with vases and with all other things necessary for the use of a camp. Suddenly the King of England rushes from his retreat, and easily disperses this unarmed people and all laden with provisions and effects: he kills, carries off, removes the chariots, the baggage, the horses, the baskets and the vases from the kitchens and tables, vases that gold and silver made brilliant and more precious than all others. The plunderer did not spare the small barrels full of écus, nor the sacks that contained ornaments, the tax registers and the fiscal papers; the royal seal itself was carried off as well as all the other effects; and the king suffered such a considerable loss in this place, that one might believe that this village had truly received its name from war and fraud15.

They had not yet reached the first moment of rest, when suddenly the cry “to arms!” was heard; all the men rush to arms pell-mell; no one asks if he is seizing the arms that belong to him or those of his companion, and each takes for himself those he finds most within reach. But already, laden with spoils and booty, the plunderers had prudently dispersed into the woods and into distant valleys, where the king could not lead men-at-arms. When he recognized that there was no means of pursuing the enemies, he continued his journey, and ordered that everything that had been lost be remade and guarded henceforth with greater care. In place of all the lost things, it was easy for him to have better ones made, or at least equally precious; but it was only with infinite difficulty that the registers could be re-established by which one knew in advance what was due to the treasury, what they were, and how much the subsidies amounted to, what each was obliged to pay, by way of census, taille, or for feudal right, who were exempt and who were condemned to corvées, who were the serfs of the glebe and the domestic serfs, and finally by what dues a freedman was still bound to his patron. Gautier the younger presided over this work; he took on this arduous task, and, guided by his natural spirit and by a judgment full of vigor, he re-established all things in their former and legitimate state, enlightened in advance by him who taught Ezra to remake the Books of the Law and the Prophets, the Books of Psalms, and finally all the writings of the Old Testament, which Chaldean impiety had entirely delivered to the flames, when the holy city was taken by the prince of the butchers, under the orders of the king of Assyria16, who, having put out the king’s eyes17, had him led to Babylon, along with all his people. The latter, having taken, in the midst of a feast, a laxative drink that was treacherously presented to him, suffered terribly in his stomach, and this beverage gave him, in his prison, sorrow and death.

During this time Renaud, Count of Dammartin, to whom the king had also given the countess with all the county of Boulogne, and Baldwin, invested with the first honors of the palace, proud of his ancestors, brother of Queen Elizabeth, and Count of Flanders and of Hainaut, having abandoned the King of the French, had gone over to the party of the King of the English. In addition, many barons, secretly become his friends, favored him by dissembling in their hearts, for this king attached all the great lords, and pursued the eager hearts of the children of France, by the abundance of his presents and the allure of his promises, generously distributing gold and silver to them, and giving them ornaments, provisions, domains and farmsteads. However, he could not succeed in corrupting by his presents the lord of Barres.

It happened, a short time after these events, that the Virgin Mother of God, who teaches us by her words and by the facts that she is the lady of Chartres, wishing to re-establish in a more splendid form the church that this city had specially consecrated to her, permitted by a marvelous dispensation that the fires of Vulcan should unleash at her will against this church, so that such a remedy might put an end to the languishing illness that consumed the house of the Lord in the place where it was situated, and that this destruction might become the principle of the new construction, which shines today with a greater splendor than any other church in the world. This church having therefore been demolished, a new church rises, already perfect in beauty, whose entire body is enclosed under a vast vault, and which has nothing to fear from fire until the day of judgment. From this fire also resulted in the salvation of many people, by whose help the new work was undertaken and completed. Indeed, the enemy of the human race, always unjust, always delights in adding a new misfortune to a misfortune, and can never wish for or love good. He himself, however, never does any harm without the Lord himself permitting it, and the Lord permits it so that he may always sin in all things. Nevertheless, through all these acts, God always has in view the advantages that can result for the human race: He punishes sin or else He represses in the hearts of men the feelings of pride, so that the just may be further justified by the present afflictions, and that he who is defiled may be further defiled by a just judgment; for patience, guardian of virtue, strengthens the just, and the will once chained to vice makes the unjust persevere. By this it happens that, good and bad at the same time, the enemy is equally useful to us by the same action, while he is harmful to himself and his own; and this is not because he can or wants to be simply good, but because, even in being bad, it is an occasion for the development of our good. Thus, bad for the Jews and good for us, the passion of Christ was transformed for us into life, for them into death. The same event which was so greatly useful to the world, in that the passion saves us, in that the action committed by the Jews condemns them: the first pleases the eternal Father, the second displeases Him.

But as our journey through such a harsh path takes away the breath of our steed, may it be allowed to stop for a moment, so that after this fourth pause it may run with more lightness.

Part II of the translation can be found here: https://medieval.substack.com/p/the-philippide-translation-part-ii.

I was looking at movie listings recently, getting ready for the upcoming movie The Odyssey. I’m very excited for that. But I noticed that The Death of Robin Hood is in theaters, and I’d forgotten it was out, as I’d been traveling. I got a ticket for one of the last few show times available.

The premise of the movie is that Robin Hood is old, tired, and remorseful. And further, that his crimes were never in service of “stealing from the rich to give to the poor,” but rather were a long series of horrible crimes committed simply for the hell of it. The trailer gives it the feel of a medieval version of Clint Eastwood’s Unforgiven, a movie that completely deconstructed the mythos of the Old West and spaghetti westerns and replaced it with the haunted regret of an old outlaw. I hoped for a movie of similar quality.

The movie opens with a single block of text: 1247AD.

Henry III is King of England, the son of the bad King John, brother of Richard the Lionheart. Robin is old at this point, so this places this Robin Hood (in his younger years) squarely in the era of Richard. Could easily have gone on Crusade with him, as he is sometimes presented (e.g. in Ridley Scott’s Robin Hood).

Strangely, nothing after this is done with the date. No political figures of note appear. We have no idea who is King, or even where in England we are. The movie was filmed in Ireland, and the landscape of the movie is cold, mountainous, windy, and foggy. This is no Sherwood Forest. The movie could have been set in 1600s Ireland, for all the movie gives us about that. I’m not even sure why they bothered to give us a date.

To go back to the “historical Robin Hood,” if such a thing can be said to exist, in the tales, the historical Robin Hood generally is pegged in later by at least 100 years. A complete post on the history of Robin Hood would be good fun, but it’s out of scope for this review (a full post on Robin Hood might be forthcoming at some point!). Suffice to say, the first written mention of Robin Hood appears in Piers Plowman, written in 1377, 150 years later. Robin Hood’s Death, the so-called Child Ballad #1201 on which the movie is based, is quite late, probably 17th century, though it has antecedents (for example, The Gest of Robin Hood2 ) that are earlier. Those early tales seem likely written not much earlier than 1400, and usually place Robin Hood in the late 1200s and into the 1300s. But I digress. In any case, this movie is not the Robin Hood you know.3

This movie is violent, dark, and strange. Violent like The Northmen violent, if you have seen that movie. If blood, burnings, arrows through eye sockets and axes through skulls bother you, sit this one out. And the movie is a bit of a puzzle.

It does deconstruct the Robin Hood tales. Hugh Jackman’s Robin Hood tells us early on the stories are all lies, and that they did what they did for sport. Though there is a “Little John,” and he comes calling to Robin’s mountainous isolation for help recovering his wife and daughter. Robin Hood agrees, and it is no spoiler to say that things do not go well. But it is clear that Robin is remorseful for the things he’s done, haunted by the men he’s killed, the ones he remembers and the ones he does not. But he is an efficient killer, as we soon see.

But when things go wrong, Robin is given a chance at redemption.

I won’t spoil where the movie goes, but the movie is increasingly moody, atmospheric, and yet without a great deal of bloodshed in its latter parts. It’s a meditation of sorts on the sins of the past. Guy of Gisborne, another familiar character from the legends, makes an appearance, though not the one you expect.

The movie is puzzling. Why lean into the year 1247, specifically? No use is made of it. If Robin was really just a thug who killed for sport, what led him to become Hugh Jackman’s introspective old man? The movie does not say, or even suggest. A triggering event in the movie is when Little John’s now-wife is taken back from him by (I think, at least) her family. But the events that occur afterwards do not square with the actions of a family. A budding romance seems to begin to develop between Robin and Sister Bridgid (Jodie Comer). It’s touching, but…Robin in this movie is as old as Methuselah and with a beard to match. (Ed to author: Hugh Jackman is 57, you are 63, you idiot, you are even older than that!). The budding romance seems, well, improbable.

[UPDATE: ok, after a bit of reading, I learn that the Sloane Manuscript in the British Museum contains The Life of Robin Hood, which contains a version of Robin’s death consistent with the events of this movie, and dates his death as 1247—though this version was apparently written in the 17th century, so long after any supposed events. And the movie makes no further reference to the date or the events of the era that I noticed.]

OK but the acting is fantastic. Hugh Jackman is great, Jodie Comer is radiant, Faith Delaney as Little Margaret, Little John’s daughter, steals the show so far as I am concerned. Bill Skarsgård looks ripped from the TV show Vikings. I have no complaints about the cast and acting, I just think the script leaves something to be desired.

Still, if you are interested in things medieval and don’t mind some serious mayhem with weaponry, it’s worth watching, for the landscapes and cinematography and Hugh Jackman’s beard and hair, if nothing else :).

I wanted a medieval Unforgiven, but I think the film falls short of that. But at least it’s a real, gritty Robin Hood, not a Disney-fied version, as much fun as that might be.

P.s. The soundtrack is delightful, have a listen on your favorite streaming service.

The silvery river whispers, a tide of murmurs over rock. The burnished steel of the knight’s armor glints, reflecting the sun and the river he rides beside. The woman is breathtaking, more beautiful than the river. He’s never seen her like. Beautiful and elfin, with none of the churlish features he expects of the peasants that work his land.

He wishes her a good morning. She responds kindly. The river is lovely, is it not? he says, making small talk. The water is my life, she replies, seriously. Her voice is fluid, the sound of water over stone, timeless, ageless. He must have her. For her part, he is not unattractive, and will give her strong sons and wise daughters. Perhaps he will give her a soul. When he asks for her hand in marriage, she agrees. But there is a condition. He must never see her when she bathes. Swiftly, he agrees. Too swiftly.

As men are often do in stories like these, he has not listened. Or he forgets. Or curiosity overcomes him. Or the hectoring of his friends. We cannot know. All we know is that one day, he opens the door as she bathes, and is transfixed. She bathes, but she is not a woman, at least not a human one—he knows her angelic face, her breasts are stunning, but her legs are…a tail. She is a creature of the water, elemental. With a look of reproach, she vanishes. He never sees her again. His children have vanished as well. But on his deathbed, he hears her singing an unearthly lament for him.

So goes the ancient tale of Mélusine, more or less.1

Last week, I was reading The White Queen by Philippa Gregory, the story of Elizabeth Woodville of the house of Lancaster (in the Plantagenet line), who marries Edward IV of house of York—a tale of the War of the Roses, set 250 years after Richard. Elizabeth is descended from Mélusine, and inherits her magic; Mélusine is a thread woven through the book.

It rings a bell. I recall that Richard the Lionheart also claims Mélusine as an ancestor, and this inheritance is the origin of his famous quote about the Angevins: Henry II, Eleanor, and their quarrelsome sons, who are often called the Devil’s Brood. Of his family, Richard said: “from the devil we came, and to the devil we shall return.”

The most popular version of the Mélusine legend comes from Jean de Arras’ The Book of Melusine, written in 1478, and that is often described as the story’s origin. But as is common with these things, the story is far older than that, and has many variants. The knight doesn’t catch her in the bath, he sees her on a Saturday, or he enters her private room, or he forces her to take communion, or …etc2. He doesn’t find her by a river, he finds her on Crusade, or in Scotland, or … She doesn’t have a fish tail, she has a dragon’s tail. And so on. She doesn’t vanish, she turns into a dragon, or flies out a church window. Melusine is also regarded as a builder; many castles in France are attributed to her.3

The story is old, the variations are legion.

The version specific to Richard, and the origin of his quote about coming from the devil is very hard to track down, but the first (and only) contemporary mention I can find is in Instructions for a Ruler, by the historian Gerald of Wales, writing around 1191. We have encountered Gerald before, in our history of Excalibur: Gerald is the source of the story that Arthur’s bones were found at Glastonbury Abbey:

Gerald is an entertaining but notoriously unreliable historian, and in particular seems to despise all the Angevins. The only English translation of Instructions for a Ruler seems to be by Robert Bartlett (who also wrote a fine book on Richard), and it costs $250! Sheesh. So I’ve resorted to using Gemini to AI-translate from the original Latin via the Internet Archive:

Likewise, a certain Countess of Anjou4, of striking form but unknown nation, and taken by the Count solely for her bodily elegance, rarely came to church, and then showed little or no devotion in it, and never remained in church up to the secret of the Canon of the Mass, but always used to leave soon after the Gospel. At length, however, this having been noted with admiration both by the Count and by others, when she had come to church and was preparing to leave at the usual hour, seeing herself detained by four knights at the Count’s command, she immediately cast off the cloak by which she was held, and leaving her two small sons, whom she had with her under the fold of her cloak, with the others, and seizing the other two who stood on her left arm, she flew out through a high church window, with everyone watching. And so that woman, more beautiful in face than in faith, having taken her twin offspring with her, never appeared there again afterwards.

Moreover, King Richard often used to relate, saying that it was not to be wondered at if from such a lineage both sons and parents and brothers among themselves did not cease to vex each other; for he learned that they all came from the devil and would go to the devil. Since, therefore, the root on all sides was so vicious, how could a fruitful or virtuous offspring or progeny come from it?5

The knight that Mélusine marries is variously identified as Raymond of Portiers, or Black Fulk, Count of Anjou, or Siegfried, Count of Luxembourg, and even our old friend Guy de Lusignan! (here, and here).

The legend of Mélusine goes back in time before Gerald, but it also continues forward in time. Lohengrin and the Knight of the Swan is a gender-swapped version. Undines are mythological water sprites discussed by Paracelsus in the 16th century, with Mélusine as an example; undines have no soul, but can gain one, and/or become human, by marrying a human. Paracelsus and his writings inspire Friedrich de la Motte Fouqué to produce Undine6, a fairy tale novella, gloriously illustrated by Arthur Rackham in one edition in 1909. In Fouqué’s version, Undine is a water sprite like Mélusine, but her husband is not forbidden from watching her bath, he is forbidden from speaking harshly to her (which of course is he does, in the logic of fairy tales).

The legend of Mélusine continues to this day: in 2015 the city of Luxembourg raised a statue in her honor to mark the 1050th anniversary of the city’s founding. She appears in A. S. Byatt’s novel Possession. And Laura Marling gave her (as Undine) her own song, as found at the top of this article.

And to deliver on the promise of the article’s title, a certain Hans Christian Andersen was inspired by Fouqué’s Undine to produce The Little Mermaid.

P.S. Oh. You will read that Mélusine is the woman in the Starbucks logo. This is, as they say, a story too good to fact check. Still, Starbucks themselves say something slightly different: they say she is a siren, which is close to Mélusine, but not quite…7

(TLDR: Richard the Lionheart song at the end)

Perhaps like you, I’ve been afraid of this book my entire life, on bulk and reputation alone. But I bought a copy there, and I’ve been tearing it up. This book is not what you think—it’s funny and fast paced, before it turns dark—many of the chapters are just a few pages—and you’ll be halfway done before you realize it. But Moby Dick is a post for another day and another blog. We’re about Richard the Lionheart here, right?

But, I’ve been digging deep on the Age of Sail for a project I’m working on, and sea-shanties in particular. There’s sea shanties in Moby Dick, and I’m trying to track down one of them that starts:

Our captain stood upon the deck,
A spy-glass in his hand,
A viewing of those gallant whales
That blew at every strand.

Turns out it’s the traditional Greenland Whale Fisheries shanty. My project is set in the early 1700s and Moby Dick is ca. 1850. I’m wondering how old this shanty is—was it sung during the 1700s? I learn that the shanty (or its antecedent, The Greenland Voyage) might be mentioned in the 1725 book A Collection of Old Ballads.

Stick with me, we’re almost there.

So I hit the Internet Archive, which miraculously has a scanned version. Indeed, The Greenland Voyage is there, though it bears little resemblance to what we know today as the Greenland Whale Fisheries. Vaguely disappointed, I turn to the table of contents to see what else might be there.

Boom. The bold Courage and lamentable Death of King Richard I.

I’ve read a lot — a lot — about King Richard and his era. Two dozen books or more, plus a million papers, articles, etc. I’ve never heard of this song. The author of the Ballads has seen fit to include a summary of Richard’s life, including (parts of) the Third Crusade, and it is solid. I’ve never seen this song before, and the book is inaccessible and archaic (ca. 1725), so I decided to transcribe and publish the full text of history and song.

But before that, here’s the fun part.

Ballads says this song is sung “To the Tune of You Batchelors, &c.”1 What tune is that, I wonder? Turns out there are historians of British folk tunes, just as there are historians of sea shanties. I read up. “You Batchelors” seems to refer to an old song called Advice to Batchelors, or The Married Man’s Lamentation, which was/is sung to the tune of an older song, Hey Boys up we go, which itself is derived from a yet-even-older song called Jenny Gin. I find a recording ( a few, actually ) of Jenny Gin here.

But how does does that song and melody sound with the Richard song from the book? No idea. There are of course no recordings. Hm….

AI to the rescue! Off I go to Suno, with lyrics in hand and a small recording of the source song. “Suno, please render the provided lyrics like an old English broadside ballad2, sung solo, a cappella by a woman, to the tune and style of the attached mp3.”

Suno isn’t perfect at following instructions—the ‘solo a cappella’ version ends up sounding like a Pentatonix Las Vegas show—but you really can get the sense of the song, and it’s not bad!

Here’s the original tune for Jenny Gin / You Batchelors.original Jenny Gin)

Now, Suno’s Song of King Richard, to the same tune: (on Suno here):

I also made a version in the style of Turpin Hero (a traditional sung by Jake Bugg that I like very much), and a version like a sea shanty.

Turpin Hero style: (I did not give this run access to the Jenny Gin melody)

Sea-shanty style:

Musical Archaeology, powered by AI. It’s quite striking how Suno has preserved so much of the melody of Jenny Gin! The song kinda works!

OK, for posterity’s sake, here is the complete transcription of history and lyrics from the book. I used my OCR Workbench software, as transcribing Colonial-era books is difficult for traditional OCR. I did something similar for the letter that inspired The Tempest, if you are curious; it’s another great Age of Sail sea-adventure.

OK, I’m not going to give you the whole thing here due to Substack length limitations. If you want to read the entire content, go to my regular blog at this link. But here’s the first few verses.

A Noble Christian Warrior,
    King Richard of this Land;
For Fame amongst our Worthies brave,
    Now orderly may stand:
The God of Battels gave him still.
    A gallant great Command,
To fight for our Saviour Jesus Christ.

Richard Cordelion in this Land,
    A noble English Name;
It fills the World with Wonders great,
    With Honour and with Fame:
Then gallantly good Soldiers all,
    Come thunder out the same,
That fights, &c.

When as fair Jerusalem,
    The City of our Lord,
Lay mourning all in heaviness,
    Consumed by the Sword;
To succour her, all Christendom
    Did willingly accord:
And to fight, &c.

Fair companion, sit beside the window
And see the banners that the heavens show…
— Reis Gloria, Giraut de Borneil, ca 1200

Regular readers of this substack know we’re about things medieval, particularly the era of Richard the Lionheart. Today we have a short digression, though we’ll end up with a strange medieval connection.

I’ve been reading a lot about pirates for a project I am working on. I just finished Walking the Plank, by Steven Kiesling, which purports to be an inside history of the finding of the Whydah, the only validated pirate ship ever recovered. It was found by the pirate hunter / amateur archaeologist Barry Clifford in 1984, just off the coast of Wellfleet, on Cape Cod, Massachusetts.

It’s 1717, and the pirate “Black Sam” Bellamy has captured the slave ship Whydah and sailed it north to New England to meet his mistress. The ship carries a giant haul of treasure, reported to be 20,000 pounds of silver, gems and more. A massive storm comes up and the Whydah wrecks just off the coast of Cape Cod and is lost for 250 years. Barry Clifford reads the log of Captain Cyprian Southack, who was assigned to recover the treasure at the time, and failed. Clifford finds the treasure, or at least enough of it to validate he has found the wreck, including a bell inscribed with the ship’s name.

Clifford opened the Whydah Pirate Museum in West Yarmouth to display his findings. I’ve been. It’s fabulous. Unsurprisingly, Clifford comes off as a hero.

The thesis of Kiesling’s book, not to put words in his mouth, is that, “yes, he did find the Whydah, but everything else you’ve been told is a lie, and Clifford is kind of a scoundrel.” Disclaimer: I have no idea if this is true or not, but the book is fascinating, and that’s not the point of this. In the book, we encounter the following: (content warning, story has an objectionable sex act in it, skip at your discretion).

"Sorry!" I said, "I just figured it out."
"Figured what out?" my wife snapped.
"It's about pirates." I looked at Peter. He was into pirates.
He had offered me a free session to talk about them. "How well do you know your mythology—the legends of the Crusader knights and the Holy Grail?"
My wife scowled, but Peter took the bait—and I stripped line as fast as possible.
"Start in 1150 A.D.," I said. "A young virgin, the bride of the Captain of the Knights Templar, dies on the eve of her wedding, and the grief-stricken Knight ravishes her corpse. Nine months later the Captain is summoned to her grave by a voice. He digs up her body and finds a living head between her crossed leg bones. He carries them at the front of his army. He becomes invincible."
Peter nodded sagely and scratched his beard, probably wondering if he had chomped on a rubber worm.
"Fast forward to 1717," I said. "The Captain of a ship flying a skull and crossbones—a flag of resurrection—returns to Cape Cod to collect his young beauty, but wrecks his ship on the beach. Maybe the Captain drowns? But maybe not?"

I know a reasonable amount about things medieval, but this rings no bells. No idea what medieval story he’s talking about (and I would not characterize the Jolly Roger as a “resurrection” flag. 😊) And is not very respectable to women, which is unfortunately not uncommon in medieval stories.

Off I go to research, and sure enough, this is the legend of “The Skull of Sidon.” It occurs in a number of sources, but the most well-known is by Walter Map, in his De nugis curialium (“Courtiers Trifles”). Map was one of the courtiers of King Henry II, Richard the Lionheart’s father, who we have encountered many times, and Map’s book is filled with curious stories.

To complete the story, the magic head of Lady Maraclea was carried into battle by a Templar Lord of Sidon, and on to victory. The head, the legend says, was passed on the Templar order, and during the heresy trials of the Templars in 14th century France, the story was given as proof of heresy and witchcraft. The trials were a pretext—King Philip the Fair of France wanted the Templars’ money and feared their influence—but still led to the destruction the Templar order.

One of the most iconic flags in history

The skull and crossbones, aka the “Jolly Roger,” is one of the most iconic flags in history. There is a persistent legend that the Templars began displaying a “skull and crossbones” banner as they went into battle, emulating the Lord of Sidon, and it became their symbol. There is another persistent legend: the “Lost Fleet of the Templars,” ships manned by Templars who escaped the heresy trials and—wait for it—turned to piracy to survive.

There’s little real history to support this, at least that I can find. No footnoted documentation or pointers to contemporary sources that verify the use of the black flag. Still, as the joke goes, this is “a fact too good to fact-check.” Could it really be that the pirate emblem, the Skull and Crossbones, originated with the Knights Templar and the Crusades?

The skull and crossbones was a common medieval symbol for death1, and various Templar graves have the skull and crossbones on them, not unlike medieval occurrences of the symbol.

Historically, the connection seems pretty doubtful. But here’s something that might justify it.

The first documented use of the skull and crossbones, or the Jolly Roger as it came to be known, was by the French pirate Emmanuel Wynne2. The Templar heresy trials were held in France. Perhaps it was a folk legend that Emmanuel knew…but that is, of course, complete speculation. Almost nothing is known about Wynne except a short entry in the British Admiralty Records. A Captain Cranby is sent to Cape Verde to deal with pirates and chases Wynne into a cove. Wynne escapes, but Cranby mentions "a sable ensign with cross bones, a death's head, and an hour glass." It is 1700 and this is the earliest document mentioning the skull and bones use by pirates.

The earliest references to the term “Jolly Roger” goes back at least to the early 18th century, with one of the earliest documented instances appearing in Charles Johnson’s A General History of the Pyrates (1724). It was also apparently a practice at the time, that a death at sea was recorded in the logbook with a skull and crossbones.

There are a few other legendary stories about the origination of the Jolly Roger besides the simple association with death. Historian Dr. Rebecca Simon says that at the time, a red flag signaled that an attacking ship would offer no quarter (no mercy), whereas a black flag meant mercy would be shown.3 So some attribute the Jolly Roger name to the French words for red flag, “joli rouge.”4 Still others link it to King Roger II of Sicily (1095–1154), who had a massive fleet that flew the red flag, and who had association with the Templars. (King Roger was the grandfather of William II, who married Joan, Richard’s sister). Yet others link to word “Roger” to a synonym for the devil or for sex, but that all seems a bit of a stretch.

The flag quickly spread throughout the pirate world in the early 1700s. The flags were not flown continuously, but usually hoisted when the pirates attempted to capture another ship. The flag was part of the intimidation process, as pirates did not want a pitched battle, they wanted the ships to surrender without a fight. In fact they often rewarded the crews of ships that did not resist.

Most of the famous pirates had their own version, described in trial records and histories of the day. I’ve shown them below, keeping in mind these are reconstructions from written descriptions; the flags themselves have not survived.

Surviving flags

Few of these flags have survived, really none of the flags for the famous pirates. There are a few reported to be the flags of actual pirates (images and descriptions via Wikipedia):

A typical Jolly Roger flag. This 19th-century Barbary Corsairs flag is one of two known authentic Jolly Rogers in the world, currently residing at the Åland Maritime Museum in Finland.^[1]. The fade is very faded but analysis indicates it was originally much darker, perhaps black.

This red flag, captured by the Royal Navy in 1780 and now on display at the National Museum of the Royal Navy, Portsmouth, is the only other surviving authentic Jolly Roger flag.^[2]

There is another flag in St. Augustine Florida, but it’s historicity is of some debate.

Hope you have enjoyed this romp through pirate flags, and if you have a pointer to real history linking the Templars to the Skull and Crossbones flag, let me know!

Sometime around the year 1190, the contemporary historian Gerald of Wales reports that King Arthur’s grave has been discovered at Glastonbury. He says:

his [ed: Arthur’s] body was discovered at Glastonbury, in our own times, hidden very deep in the earth in an oak-hollow, between two stone pyramids that were erected long ago in that holy place. The tomb was sealed up with astonishing tokens, like some sort of miracle.

Roger of Hoveden, another historian of the era who was personally with Richard the Lionheart on crusade, reports that Richard gifts Excalibur (or “Caliburn, the sword of Arthur”, as Roger calls it) to Tancred, the usurper king of Sicily, during negotiations over Sicily and supplies for Richard’s crusade to the holy land. Roger is silent on the matter of how Richard obtained this miraculous sword, and devotes a single sentence (the only sentence in recorded history) to the entire fantastical subject. Frustrating for history. I wrote more on the history of Excalibur here, for the curious.

In my as-yet-unpublished novel of the Third Crusade, Excalibur is discovered buried along with Arthur. Neither Gerald of Wales nor any other historian mentions this, but it seems a very natural extrapolation to me. What is not natural in my story is that Excalibur is not a normal blade. It is discovered brightly shining and as sharp as the day it was forged, though it has been in the grave for 700 years. This is the first, though not last, evidence the sword is not a normal blade.

So imagine my surprise to learn a few days ago that this precise situation has occurred in actual history.

Only, the sword was not Excalibur and the location was not England.

It’s 1965, and archaeologists in China are performing a survey along an aqueduct in Hubei, deep in the heart of China. A series of tombs is discovered, leading to a large dig. In a casket, alongside a skeleton, inside a wooden scabbard, researchers discover The Sword of Goujian. Inscriptions on the blade say it is the sword Goujian, a king of the Yue state who reigned 496-465 BCE, so the sword had been in the ground for nearly two thousand years.

The sword is completely untarnished, the blade still sharp as the day it was forged, made from an alloy of copper and tin, a beautiful Bronze-age sword. “I am not making this up,” as the writer Dave Barry is wont to say.

Sometimes truth is stranger than fiction, no?

Last time, we discussed the castles Richard encountered on his way home from the Third Crusade. Today, we’ll return to France, where Richard is trying to reclaim the lands Philip Augustus of France has taken from him.

Reclaiming his lands from Philip

Once England was under control, Richard set about recovering the lands that Philip had slowly been capturing from him. Richard went to France, taking John with him, and they began besieging castles and fighting battles. To cement his control of the Vexin region in the northwest part of France, Richard constructed his last castle:

Château Gaillard

(click on the images to enlarge them)

Château Gaillard (“castle valiant” or “castle strong”) is widely recognized as an architectural masterpiece. You may recall T. E. Lawrence, (aka “Lawrence of Arabia”). His Oxford thesis was on crusader castles, believe it or not, comparing the architecture of those castles in the Holy Land with those of Europe, and (mostly) dispelling the idea that European architects stole from what was happening on crusade, insisting rather on the reverse.

An extended quote from his thesis about Château Gaillard is good fun:

There is therefore no room in all of this for any borrowings from Constantinople or the Templars in French architecture down to Château Gaillard. This unfortunate place is always quoted as an example of the influence of the Crusades on mediaeval castle-building; the opportunity of strengthening the statement possible in Richard’s visit to the East is too good to be missed. On the other hand quite certainly there is nothing like Château Gaillard in the East. ‘Un des plus bians chastiaus en terre, et des plus fors’1 as Guillaume Guiart describes it, it is nevertheless (or therefore Northern French in design, and North French in execution. Richard undoubtedly devised it himself: all authorities agree upon that, and throughout it shows a unity of purpose that could only have been secured by a consummate master of war, absolutely uncontrolled. Its plan shows an outwork with round towers…These ribbed walls have never yet been found anywhere else on earth.

(emphases mine) That Richard might have learned all of this on Crusade, even if he did not see it on a castle there, does not seem to have occurred to Lawrence.

One can see a faint hint of what is coming at Gaillard by looking at the castle of Gisors, but the scale and execution at Gaillard is like nothing else.

I cannot pass by Château Gaillard without reporting the (possibly apocryphal) exchange between Richard and his arch-nemesis Philip Augustus, who reportedly said he would “take it (Château Galliard) though its walls were made of iron,” to which Richard responded that he could “hold it though its walls were made of butter.”

Gaillard was constructed between 1196 and 1198 at enormous expense2. Richard personally oversaw construction and it seems likely that most of the design innovations are his.

Gaillard had three distinct, nested baileys (enclosed courtyards surrounded by curtain walls), the first castle known to do so. This made the interior quite secure. A key architectural innovation at Gaillard are the semi-circular embossed walls; these are its most recognizable visual feature. The circular shape causes projectiles to bounce off and do less damage, while at the same time allowing defenders to cross-fire on anyone attempting to scale the walls. The keep had walls 5 meters thick! Two wells provided redundant water access.

His Death

Château de Châlus-Chabrol (France)

A year or so after Gaillard was constructed, Richard and Philip arranged a truce. Richard rode to the south of France to settle other matters which he had been avoiding during his conflict with Philip. At a small castle at Châlus-Chabrol, Richard met his fate in 1199. While besieging this minor castle, Richard was struck by a crossbow bolt. The wound festered and turned, and Richard eventually died from the complications.

As was not uncommon for royalty of the era, Richard is buried in multiple places. His heart is buried at Rouen Cathedral. His entrails were removed and buried at Châlus-Chabrol. The rest of his body was sent to Fontevraud Abbey, the final resting place of the Plantagenet kings.

At Fontevraud, there are effigies of Richard, his mother Eleanor, and his father Henry. During the French Revolution, the bodies themselves were disturbed and discarded and are lost.

Last time we talked about the castles of the Third Crusade and Richard’s time in the Holy Land. This time we’re going to see the castles that factored in his life after the Crusade.

Headed for home

To end the Third Crusade, Richard negotiated a 3-year truce with Saladin, and in October of 1192 sailed for home. His kingdom was in danger. His brother John, the so-called Bad King John, was attempting to take control, and Richard needed to get home. Richard was also in conflict with most of the royalty of Europe. King Philip Augustus of France had spread poisonous rumors about him, and most of the rulers were on the lookout for Richard. Richard first sailed for Sicily, where he had allies, then sailed for the main coast of Europe.

Castles Involved in His Captivity

In an irony too strange for fiction, Richard shipwrecked on the coast of Austria, the kingdom of Duke Leopold, whom he had disrespected in the Holy Land, and he was quickly taken prisoner by Leopold, and held in Dürnstein Castle.

Dürnstein Castle (Austria)

Today, Dürnstein is a craggy mountain ruin, but in its day it was a magnificent fortress with a commanding view of the Danube river. Leopold gloated as Richard was held prisoner there, guarded by men with swords who rarely left his side. Dürnstein was home to Hadmar II, one of Leopold’s key ministers.

It is at Dürnstein that Richard composed his famous troubadour song Ja Nus Hons Pris, referenced at the top of this post.

There is a popular legend involving Richard that occurs at Dürnstein. The troubadour Blondel was said to have wandered Europe looking for Richard, approaching castles and singing a song only he and Richard knew. When he sang at Dürnstein, the legend goes, he heard the second verse coming a castle window, and knew that he had discovered Richard. Like many great stories, this one is a little too good to be true. There really is no historical justification for this story, and in any case Richard’s location was not really a secret. But like many things with Richard, truth and fiction are hard to separate. I wrote more on this legend here:

Soon, in March of 1193, Leopold had sold Richard to Henry VI, the Holy Roman Emperor. Richard was a valuable commodity and eventually a hostage ransom was agreed with England, to the tune of 100,000 pounds of silver—about three times the annual revenue of the Crown of England. An enormous sum!

Richard would be moved from Dürnstein Castle and eventually sent to Trifels Castle in Germany, where he remained for the better part of the year.

Trifels Castle (Germany)

While Richard was held at Trifels, there was eventually a “show trial” held at the court of Henry VI. Surprisingly, Richard dominated this trial, earning the respect of friend and foe alike.1 Still, Henry was not letting such a valuable commodity go. By July there was an agreement for Richard’s release, and in February of 1194, after payment of a substantial portion of the ransom, he was actually released. There is another famous, possibly apocryphal story from this time, when Philip Augustus wrote to Bad King John, “Look to yourself, for the devil is loosed.”

Nottingham Castle (England)

After being released, Richard returned to England to re-assume control. He went north to Nottingham Castle to subdue a rebellion led by a number of John’s henchmen. Nottingham Castle is a formidable fortress controlling much of the north of England, but as with his other sieges, Richard quickly brought it to heel. Nottingham and the castle are not far from Sherwood Forest, home of a certain green-robed archer. While Robin Hood is likely fictional, Richard’s visit to Sherwood Forest is not, as reported in Roger of Hoveden’s histories.2 Nothing much remains of Nottingham Castle of this era, as it was razed in the 17th century, and eventually rebuilt. But the below gives you some ideas.

You can find a detailed account of the siege here, and more about the history of the castle here.

Peveril Castle

In my book, my protagonist is granted the lordship of Peveril Castle, not far from Nottingham. My character is fictional; the castle is not. It was originally constructed by Richard’s father Henry II and granted to Richard’s brother John, who was forced to release it to Eleanor, along with Windsor and Nottingham, after Richard was sprung from captivity. Today it is a brooding but beautiful ruin looking over a steep gorge and beautiful valley.

Next time

OK Substack is saying this post is too long for email, so next time, and last time, we will cover the last two castles for Richard, including his architectural masterpiece, Château Gaillard.

In our last post we visited the castles of Richard’s life before he became king. Today we’ll visit the castles of the Third Crusade, Richard’s focus as soon as he was crowned.

Castles of the Third Crusade

Richard’s jumping off point for the crusade was Messina, Sicily. He was the first crusade leader to sail across the Mediterranean on Crusade; the first two crusades had gone overland (and tough going it was). During their sail, a huge storm arose and blasted the fleet. The ships carrying Joanna (his sister) and Berengaria (his fiancée) were blown to Cyprus. Joanna and Berengaria were under duress by Isaac Comnenus; Richard rode to the rescue.

Limassol Castle, Cyprus

Richard politely asked Isaac to return his men and the treasure he’d taken. When those requests were refused, Richard landed at Limassol, set up headquarters, and over the short period of a few weeks took over the entire island. Limassol became his headquarters during his stay. He was engaged to Berengaria at the time, and had not had time in Sicily for a wedding. He married Berengaria at Limassol at this castle. He also received Guy de Lusignan here. Guy was at the time the nominal King of Jerusalem, but Jerusalem was held by Saladin, and most of the Crusader state thought Guy unfit to be king after the disaster of the Battle of Hattin. He came to Cyprus to get Richard’s help in recovering the kingship, and quickly became involved in helping Richard subdue Isaac.

The castle of Saint Hilarion, Cyprus

With Isaac on the run, Richard split his troops - he sent his captain Robert of Thurnham west around the island by boat, sent Guy de Lusignan up the center of the island on foot, and Richard himself went around to the east by boat. He eventually took the town of Kyrenia, where they discovered Isaac’s daughter. Guy took her to the fantastical mountain fortress of Saint Hilarion.

Isaac was eventually captured, and the crusaders sailed on to the Holy Land, Isaac and his daughter on board. Later, Richard would essentially gift all of Cyprus to Guy and the Lusignan family; they would rule it for four hundred years. The castle of Saint Hilarion became their summer palace.

Margat castle, Syria

When Richard arrived in the Levant, he deposited Isaac in Margat Castle to be held prisoner by the Knights Hospitaller. Margat (aka Marqab) castle was built (or extensively expanded) in the 11th century by the Knights Hospitaller, and it became their headquarters in Syria. The castle eventually passed to the Knights Templar. In 1285 the castle fell to the Mamluk Sultan of Egypt, Qalawun. It is located in modern day Syria, and commands a stunning view of the Mediterranean. There is a lot of great video of the castle in the video below (oddly, narrated by someone with a New England Patriots jersey on, lol).

Acre, Israel

The citadel of Acre was a key control point for the Levant, a heavily fortified coastal port city with a central location. It changed hands many times. Founded as far back as the Phoenicians perhaps three thousand years ago, it was captured by the Crusaders during/after the First Crusade in 1104. After the battle of Hattin, Saladin recaptured Acre. In 1189, Guy de Lusignan laid siege to it; the siege continued for almost two years before Richard the Lionheart appeared on the scene in 1191.

Acre had a unique geography, the old city occupying a spit of land sticking out into the Mediterranean. Acre was heavily fortified; sea walls protected it from the ocean side and a massive wall protected the entire city from the rest of the land side. The walls were nearly one hundred feet tall, and outside the wall was a ditch ninety feet deep! Few castles have walls that tall; see for example the image below of the famous Krac de Chevaliers in Syria (a crusader fortress Richard had little to do with); it’s exterior walls around 30 meters tall, so a very similar height.

Nevertheless, it did not take long for Richard to win the siege, partly due to his leadership and no doubt partly due to the vast infusion of resources he brought (more on siege tactics here). Following the siege, one of the darkest scenes of Richard’s life took place: the massacre of the Muslim prisoners. This event is worth a dedicated post, but in summary, after failed negotiations with Saladin, 2700 Muslim prisoners were executed by Richard and his men. By today’s standards it was certainly a war crime, though in Richard’s era, both sides committed these kinds of atrocities with regularity and (mostly) viewed them as acceptable behavior.

The crusaders would hold Acre until nearly the end of the Crusade era. In 1291, Acre fell to the Mamluk Sulta al_ashraf Khalil, and they razed much of the city. The siege is shown in this famous 19th century painting by Dominique Papety. Little remains of the Crusader-era fortifications.

After Richard conquered Acre, he marched down the coast, scoring a series of victories in battle over Saladin: at Arsuf, Jaffa, and Ascalon.

Arsuf

Richard marched from Acre to Arsuf first, in September of 1191. The march was along a coastal road, the sea on the Crusaders’ right and Saladin’s forces on the left. The march ended in a route, the Crusaders overwhelming Saladin’s forces. They rebuilt the fortress at Arsuf and it would be held by the Crusaders for over a hundred years.

In 1265, sultan Baibars captured it and razed the structure. The picture above shows what is left today.

Ascalon

In 1153, the crusader king Baldwin III laid siege to Ascalon, eventually taking it.

The whole city lies in a kind of basin which is tilted down toward the sea. It is girded round with artificial mounds on which are walls, studded with towers. It is solidly fashioned and its stones are held together by cement which is as hard as stone. The walls are of a proper thickness and as high as is proportionally fitting. Even the outer fortifications which circle around the city are constructed with the same solidity and are diligently fortified. There are no springs within the circuit of the walls nor are there any nearby, but wells both outside and within the city supply an abundance of delicious drinking water. As a further precaution the citizens have built within the city several cisterns to collect rain water. There are four gates in the circuit of the walls. These are most carefully fortified with high, solid towers.^[95]

— William of Tyre, History of Deeds Done Beyond the Sea: XVII, 22–25 (via Wikipedia)

Ascalon was a vital holding, prized by both Richard and Saladin. It was a key sticking point in the final truce negotiations ending the Third Crusade. Saladin demanded it be destroyed, but Richard knew it provided a key foothold for an assault on Egypt, Saladin’s true power base. Richard had long desired to attack Egypt. In the end, he agreed to Saladin’s terms and the citadel was destroyed. Little remains of the Crusader-era fortifications.

Jaffa

Jaffa was the scene of perhaps Richard’s most famous victory, though ironically it was the last battle of the Third Crusade. It forced a truce, rather than a Crusader surrender. Again, nothing much remains of the fortifications of the time. The medievalist Anthony Bale has an interesting post for those wanting more on Jaffa.

Next time

In our next post, we’ll visit the castles that factor in Richard’s life after the Crusade.

I interrupt the Richard the Lionheart castle series to share a Christmas story with you, a book I am reading. You may know the tale. It is called Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. It is a Christmas tale, believe it or not.

This king lay at Camelot at Christmas-tide
with many a lovely lord, lieges most noble,
indeed of the Table Round all those tried brethren,
amid merriment unmatched and mirth without care.

So, imagine yourself (or place yourself) in a comfortable chair, the snow lightly falling outside, the sun long since set, and (if you celebrate Christmas), the lights on the Christmas tree blinking, a Christmas drink in your hand, perhaps an eggnog. For a brief hour, you disappear into another world. A world of heroic knights, fair ladies, the Round Table, and a Christmas celebration.

A giant horseman rides into the hall, seven feet tall, with green skin and a giant, nasty-looking axe in his hand. He challenges the room to a battle: “You may strike me once with the axe, any way you choose. In a year and a day, I return the favor.”

The room is stunned, and afraid. The world of Faerie has entered to their celebration. Arthur volunteers for this Christmas game, but Gawain, a young knight and Arthur’s nephew, decides that the task is his. It is no spoiler to tell you that Gawain beheads the Green Knight, who proceeds to pick his head up, remind Gawain of his obligation to visit the Green Chapel in a year, and ride out, head in hand.

It sounds like a fantastical medieval story, but it is indeed a Christmas story. Arthur and the Round Table are celebrating Christmas at Camelot when the man appears. Gawain is given a year and a day, a traditional medieval ritual time span, to respond. The climax comes on New Year’s Day when Gawain arrives at the Green Chapel. It is also a morality tale: a tale of temptation, sin, and a moral reckoning.

The Green Knight is a later tale in the Arthurian canon, and it comes a few hundred years after Richard’s time. Chretien de Troyes’ famous Arthurian tales have long since been told. Those tales are steeped in the courtly ethos: chivalry, and the like. The Gawain poet (we do not know his name) is after something different. He is after Christian notions of sin and temptation. But he has hidden his exploration inside the trappings of a classical chivalric tale.

Sir Gawain and the Green Knight is written in a distinctive verse form. The poem made of long alliterative lines, each line divided by a caesura into two half-lines with stressed syllables bound together by alliteration rather than rhyme. At the end of each stanza, the poet concludes with a shorter, tighter, quatrain - four lines - summarizing the stanza it is in.

I am reading the Tolkien translation, as much because I love Tolkien as because it is necessarily the best translation (Simon Armitage’s translation is very well regarded). Tolkien leans in to the medieval/heroic verse form, a pounding rhythm. But strangely, as I read, the rhythm of “Twas the Night before Christmas” is what I hear.

Now of their service I will say nothing more,
for you are all well aware that no want would there be.
Another noise that was new drew near on a sudden,\
so that their lord might have leave at last to take food.
For hardly had the music but a moment ended,
and the first course in the court as was custom been served,
when there passed through the portals a perilous horseman,
the mightiest on middle-earth in measure of height,
from his gorge to his girdle so great and so square,
and his loins and his limbs so long and so huge,
that half a troll upon earth I trow that he was,
but the largest man alive at least I declare him;
and yet the seemliest for his size that could sit on a horse,
for though in back and in breast his body was grim,
both his paunch and his waist were properly slight,
and all his features followed his fashion so gay in mode;
for at the hue men gaped aghast
in his face and form that showed;
as a fay-man fell he passed,
and green all over glowed.

All of green were they made, both garments and man:
a coat tight and close that clung to his sides;
a rich robe above it all arrayed within
with fur finely trimmed, shewing fair fringes
of handsome ermine gay, as his hood was also,
that was lifted from his locks and laid on his shoulders;
and trim hose tight-drawn of tincture alike
that clung to his calves; and clear spurs below
of bright gold on silk broideries banded most richly,
though unshod were his shanks, for shoeless he rode.
— J.R.R. Tolkien, Sir Gawain And The Green Knight, Pearl, And Sir Orfeo

Read the stanza beginning with “All of green were they made…” and tell me you do not hear A Visit from St. Nicholas (aka ‘Twas the Night before Christmas)!

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a broad face and a little round belly
That shook when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,

(and compare to the original:

Ande al grayþed in grene þis gome and his wedes:
A strayte cote ful streȝt, þat stek on his sides,
A meré mantile abof, mensked withinne
With pelure pured apert, þe pane ful clene
With blyþe blaunner ful bryȝt, and his hod boþe,
Þat watz laȝt fro his lokkez and layde on his schulderes;

The poem is not so long. If you are looking for a medieval Christmas read that will take you to another world, Gawain might be for you.

I wish you a peaceful holiday season and a new year filled with great reading.

I have been exploring design motifs for a book cover in the event I end up self-publishing my book. Unsurprisingly, castles feature prominently.

Richard’s entire adult life was spent at war, as were most of his teenage years. The period known as The War Without Love was particularly violent. Richard and his brothers rebelled against their father King Henry II of England, and war spread throughout most of modern day France. It was brutal; there was slaughter everywhere, the rebels “laying waste to Henry’s lands on every side, with fire, sword and rapine,” as a chronicler later said. In his masterful biography Richard I, John Gillingham catalogs the castles Richard besieged and took during that era. One can count to 50 without trouble (and those are just the ones we have a history of). Most of those castles were undoubtedly minor, many of them razed at the time, and virtually all of them gone today.

But many of the famous castle of Richard’s life remain, and I thought it would be fun to explore them. It will take us a few posts to get through them, organized roughly by eras in Richard’s life.

Richard’s Early Life

Poitiers, France

Richard the Lionheart was the son of King Henry II and Eleanor of Aquitaine (see The Cast). Eleanor’s marriage soured in the late 1160s; in 1168 she retreated to Poitiers, taking Richard with her. Eleanor’s court was awash with books and music, especially the songs of the troubadours. Eleanor and the young Richard lived at Maubergeon Tower, built by Eleanor’s grandfather for his mistress and future wife Dangeureuse (“dangerous”), Eleanor’s eventual grandmother. Little is known of Richard’s life until he was about 16, but this is where he spent much of it. Perhaps less a castle than a palace.

Chinon Castle, Chinon, France

Chinon was the seat of power for the Angevin kings Henry II, Richard, and John. It is seen above in a lovely hand drawing from the late 19th century and then by an actual picture. The fortress is massive; it was the residence as well as the treasury for Henry. If you have seen The Lion in Winter, the fabulous movie with Katherine Hepburn and Peter O’Toole, it takes place at Chinon.

Chinon figured prominently in the War Without Love. Richard’s younger brother John (“bad King John”) was then known as John “Lackland,” because he had held no lands. Though a child, he was engaged, and his fiancée’s father was haranguing Henry about making provision for his daughter. Henry responded by promising Chinon castle to John; it had been promised to Henry the Young king, the eldest son and theoretical co-king with Henry. The younger Henry was rightfully outraged to see the center of Angevin power promised to the youngest son, and rode away from the argument at Chinon and began to plot what eventually became the rebellion, which Richard and Eleanor joined. Henry imprisoned Eleanor here after the War Without Love, and she would hold court here during Richard’s reign.

Chinon figures in many later events; a hundred years later, Jacques de Molay, the Grand Master of the Knights Templar, was imprisoned here before being burned at the stake in Paris. Joan of Arc made an appearance here.

Sidenote

I wrote a short story set during the war without love, you can read it for free here:

Becoming a king

The War Without Love ended in 1174 and Richard was reconciled to Henry. In 1175, Henry sent Richard to subdue the rest of the rebels in Aquitaine and France. There followed a campaign of battle and slaughter that would last close to 10 years and would develop Richard into the fearsome warrior that he became.

Taillebourg

In 1174, during the War Without Love, Richard hid from his father in the castle of Taillebourg. The castle was regarded as virtually impregnable, and Henry was not able to take it. Richard eventually escaped. Later, he would surrender to his father at a different location. But in 1179, now acting on behalf of his father, Richard himself had to take Taillebourg. He displayed the military cunning for which he became known and took the castle at the age of 21. Like Chinon, Taillebourg was built on a rocky outcrop at a bend in the river. It was an enormous complex, now mostly ruined, but one gets a sense of it from the pictures above.

Gisors Castle, France

Gisors was a vital border fortress between Normandy and France. It helped control the Vexin, a valley in Normandy and the primary route from Paris to the important city of Rouen. Gisors was the site of many important conferences between Henry and Philip, between Richard and Philip, and between Henry and Richard (and some conferences involving all three of them). At one of these conferences, Henry promises Philip that Richard will marry Philip’s sister Alys (which he never does). During the War Without Love, Henry offers terms to the rebellious sons here at conference; said terms are refused.

In July of 1189, Henry II died near Chinon. After Henry’s death, Richard rode out of Chinon on his way to meet Philip, and a bridge collapsed underneath him, dumping him in a ditch.1

While Richard is on Crusade, Philip tries to take lands from Richard, including Gisors. Philip showed up at Gisors with a forged document claiming Richard had given him Gisors. William Fitzralph, then in charge of the castle, refused the request, sending Philip away angry. Eventually, Philip would attack Gisors during the time Richard was rumored to be dead and lost returning from Crusade, and the castle would give way.

After the Crusades, Richard goes to war with Philip to regain lands Philip has taken from him. Richard returns the favor: one of the famous events of that war occurred at Gisors, recounted here in a contemporary letter from Richard:

We so pressed them to the gate of Gisors that the bridge broke beneath them, and the king of France, as we hear, drank of the river. Up to twenty other knights were drowned. With our own lance we laid low Matthew de Montmorenci, Alan de Rusci, and Fulk de Gilerval, and held them captive. Over one hundred of his men were taken. We send you the names of the most important and will forward the rest when we have them. Mercadier also took thirty knights whom we have not seen. Mounted sergeants and foot sergeants were also captured, but these have not yet been counted; and two hundred chargers were seized, of which one hundred forty were armoured. It was thus that we defeated the French king at Gisors. It was not our might, but God’s and the justice of our cause, which triumphed, for in this deed, against the advice of all our men, we placed at hazard both our head and our reign. We tell you of these things that you may rejoice along with us.
Witness ourselves at Dangu, 30 September.2

But Gisors would remain in Philip’s hands, and its loss to Philip was a major blow, prompting Richard to build Château Gaillard, his architectural masterpiece, to replace its defensive value. We’ll see Gaillard in a future post.

Legendarily in the 14th century, knights from the Knights Templar were said to have been imprisoned at Gisors, and it was rumored they hid a treasure there. There were reports of excavations that found chapels, sarcophagi, and metal chests, but none of these legends have been validated.

Returning to 1189, Henry is dead and Richard is king of England. Famously, Richard spent little time in England during his life. At this phase of his life, none of the famous English castles (Windsor, the Tower of London) were much relevant, though Richard spent time at both.

Richard was soon to “take the cross” and go on crusade. In our next post, we’ll see the castles of the Crusade, and then return to England and France, and Château Gaillard, in our final post.

Super excited to say that one of my short stories has been published in Carmina Magazine.

It is a tale of Morgana le Fay, set in Sicily, but I’m also happy to report that Richard the Lionheart, Excalibur, and King Arthur make appearances in this story.

You can find the story here, it is free to read:

http://carminamagazine.com/forged.html

You can find the table of contents for the full issue here, there are some fun stories and great poetry of a historical/mythological bent present.

And if you want more of the history of Excalibur, read this:

Today we’re taking a small diversion from the High Middle Ages, the era of Richard the Lionheart, to visit the Late Middle Ages. Chaucer, in particular. I was reading ’s wonderful Medievalish blog, and found these lovely lines from the Prologue to The Canterbury Tales (translation by Hamman):

“Seek strange shores.” What a lovely turn of phrase. If you’ve ever felt the pull of wanderlust, you know what Chaucer meant. You may recall The Canterbury Tales is a collection of stories by fellow travelers as they take the road to Canterbury to visit the shrine of Thomas Becket, whom we have encountered a few times in this blog.

Here’s William Blake’s amazing rendering of our troupe:

I realized that I’d not read any Chaucer since high school. Embarrassing, really, for someone interested in things Medieval. So I’ve decided to read Chaucer. The Tales are written in Middle English, which is certainly decipherable, especially if one has a taste for archaic words. Here’s the first stanza of the Tales:

Whan that Aprille with his shoures soote,
The droghte of March hath perced to the roote,
And bathed every veyne in swich licóur
Of which vertú engendred is the flour;
Whan Zephirus eek with his swete breeth
Inspired hath in every holt and heeth
The tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne
Hath in the Ram his halfe cours y-ronne,
And smale foweles maken melodye,
That slepen al the nyght with open ye,
So priketh hem Natúre in hir corages,
Thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages,
And palmeres for to seken straunge strondes,
To ferne halwes, kowthe in sondry londes;
And specially, from every shires ende
Of Engelond, to Caunterbury they wende,
The hooly blisful martir for to seke,
That hem hath holpen whan that they were seeke.

How shall we read?

One’s first choice is how to read? In the original? Hm, that looks a little gnarly. In translation then. But all translation is a loss, and this is poetry after all! (see Peter Green for some snarky reviews of translations he did not like). This isn’t ancient Greek! Maybe we can do it! Neither choice feels entirely satisfactory…

There are some very nice original editions. Many people talk about The Riverside Chaucer. The Kelmscott Chaucer is often referred to as “the most beautiful book ever printed,” with artwork by the famous author/artist William Morris.

Or, one could read a so-called interlinear translation, showing the original and a translation line by line. The Harvard interlinear looks very interesting. Unfortunately it is only available as a web page, which is awkward for long form reading (I may make myself an ePub of it!)

I wanted to compare the various translations before setting in on things, so you are the beneficiary of my research! Here are the first stanzas from many well-known translations.

Versions of the first stanza

Morrison (the portable Chaucer)

As soon as April pierces to the root
The drought of March, and bathes each bud and shoot
Through every vein of sap with gentle showers
From whose engendering liquor spring the flowers;
When zephyrs have breathed softly all about
Inspiring every wood and field to sprout,
And in the zodiac the youthful sun
His journey halfway through the Ram has run;
When little birds are busy with their song
Who sleep with open eyes the whole night long
Life stirs their hearts and tingles in them so,
On pilgrimages people long to go
And palmers to set out for distant strands
And foreign shrines renowned in many lands.
And specially in England people ride
To Canterbury from every countyside
To visit there the blessed martyred saint
Who gave them strength when they were sick and faint.

After even the first translation you can feel how much poetry, rhyme and rhythm is lost in translation…

Burton Raffel

When April arrives, and with his sweetened showers
Drenches dried-up roots, gives them power
To stir dead plants and sprout the living flowers
That spring has always spread across these fields,
And the God of Winds then blows his gentle seeds
In every wood and heath of England, feeding
Tender crops, as the sun, still young in the sky,
Compels small birds to sing their melodies,
Creatures who sleep at night with open eyes
(Exactly as Nature frames their lives' short ages).
Then people think of holy pilgrimages,
Pilgrims dream of setting foot on far-off
Lands, or worship at distant shrines, their thoughts
Reaching for grace, as holy teachers taught them.
And mostly, from everywhere in England, they hurry
To the blessed ancient town of Canterbury,
To worship the martyred spirit of Thomas à Beckett,
Who'd helped so many, lying deadly sick.

Honestly, it feels overblown. Elaborated with adjectives missing from the original. The birds aren’t “compelled” in the original, and the pilgrims were not “lying deadly sick,” just “sick.” The compactness is lost…

Coghill

When in April the sweet showers fall
And pierce the drought of March to the root, and all
The veins are bathed in liquor of such power
As brings about the engendering of the flower,
When also Zephyrus with his sweet breath
Exhales an air in every grove and heath
Upon the tender shoots, and the young sun
His half-course in the sign of the Ram has run,
And the small fowl are making melody
That sleep away the night with open eye
(So nature pricks them and their heart engages)
Then people long to go on pilgrimages
And palmers long to seek the stranger strands
Of far-off saints, hallowed in sundry lands,
And specially, from every shire's end
Of England, down to Canterbury they wend
To seek the holy blissful martyr, quick
To give his help to them when they were sick.

Wright

When the sweet showers of April have pierced
The drought of March, and pierced it to the root
And every vein is bathed in that moisture
Whose quickening force will engender the flower
And when the west wind too with its sweet breath
Has given life in every wood and field
To tender shoots, and when the stripling sun
Has run his half-course in Aries, the Ram,
And when small birds are making melodies,
That sleep all the night long with open eyes,
(Nature so prompts them, and encourages);
Then people long to go on pilgrimages,
And palmers to take ship for foreign shores,
And distant shrines, famous in different lands;
And most especially, from all the shires
Of England, to Canterbury they come,
The holy blessed martyr there to seek,
Who gave his help to them when they were sick.

Harvard Chaucer (no named translator)

When April with its sweet-smelling showers
Has pierced the drought of March to the root,
And bathed every vein (of the plants) in such liquid
By which power the flower is created;
When the West Wind also with its sweet breath,
In every wood and field has breathed life into
The tender new leaves, and the young sun
Has run half its course in Aries,
And small fowls make melody,
Those that sleep all the night with open eyes
(So Nature incites them in their hearts),
Then folk long to go on pilgrimages,
And professional pilgrims to seek foreign shores,
To distant shrines, known in various lands;
And specially from every shire's end
Of England to Canterbury they travel,
To seek the holy blessed martyr,
Who helped them when they were sick.

Ecker & Crook

When April's gentle rains have pierced the drought
Of March right to the root, and bathed each sprout
Through every vein with liquid of such power
It brings forth the engendering of the flower;
When Zephyrus too with his sweet breath has blown
Through every field and forest, urging on
The tender shoots, and there's a youthful sun,
His second half course through the Ram now run,
And little birds are making melody
And sleep all night, eyes open as can be
(So Nature pricks them in each little heart),
On pilgrimage then folks desire to start.
The palmers long to travel foreign strands
To distant shrines renowned in sundry lands;
And specially, from every shire's end
In England, folks to Canterbury wend:
To seek the blissful martyr is their will,
The one who gave such help when they were ill.

Davis

When that April with his sweet showers has pierced the drought of March unto the root and bathed every vein in such liquor that engenders the flowers, and when the West Wind Zephyrus with his sweet breath has inspired the tender crops in every grove and heath, and when the young Sun has run half his course in the sign of Aries the Ram, and small birds that sleep all the night with open eye do make melody (so does Nature prick them in their hearts); then do folk long to go on pilgrimages, and pilgrims for to seek strange strands, the shrines of distant saints in sundry lands; and specially from every shire's end of England to Canterbury they wend, the holy blissful Martyr Saint Thomas à Beckett for to seck, he who has helped them when that they were sick.

Fisher

When April comes and with its showers sweet
Has, to the root, pierced March's drought complete,
And then bathed every vein in such elixir
That, by its strength, engendered is the flower;
When Zephirus with his sweet breath
Inspires life anew, through grove and heath,
In tender shoots, and when the spring's young sun
Has, in the Ram,- full half its course now run,
And when small birds begin to harmonize
That sleep throughout the night with open eyes
(So nature, stirring them, pricks up their courage),
Then folks, too, long to go on pilgrimage,
And palmers hope to seek there, on strange strands,
Those far-off shrines well known in many lands;
And especially, from every shire's end
Of England, to Canterbury they wend;
The holy, blessed martyr they all seek,
Who has helped them when they were sick and weak.

Hopper (intralineal)

When April with his showers sweet
The drought of March has pierced to the root,
And bathed every vein in such liquid,
From whose potency is engendered the flower;
When Zephyr' too with his sweet breath
Has quickened, in every grove and field,
The tender sproutings; and the young sun
Has in the Ram his half course run,
And small birds make melody,
That sleep all the night with open eye
(So nature goads them in their hearts):
Then people long to go on pilgrimages
And palmers' to seek strange shores
To far-off shrines, known in sundry lands;
And especially, from every shire's end
Of England, to Canterbury they wend,
The holy blessed martyr to seek,
Who helped them, when they were sick.

Ackroyd

When the soft sweet showers of April reach the roots of all things, refreshing the parched earth, nourishing every sapling and every seedling, then humankind rises up in joy and expectation. The west wind blows away the stench of the city, and the crops flourish in the fields beyond the walls. After the waste of winter it is delightful to hear birdsong once more in the streets. The trees themselves are bathed in song. It is a time of renewal, of general restoration. The sun has passed midway through the sign of the Ram, a good time for the sinews and the heart. This is the best season of the year for travellers. That is why good folk then long to go on pilgrimage.
They journey to strange shores and cities, seeking solace among the shrines of the saints. Here in England many make their way to Canterbury, and to the tomb of the holy blissful martyr Thomas. They come from every shire to find a cure for infirmity and care.

Beidler

When April with his sweet showers has
pierced the dryness of March to the root,
and bathed every vein in such moisture
as has power to bring forth the flower,
when, also, Zephyrus with his sweet breath
has breathed spirit into the tender new shoots
in every wood and meadow, and the young sun
has run half his course in the sign of the Ram,
and small birds sing melodies and
sleep with their eyes open all the night
(so Nature pricks them in their hearts):
then people long to go on pilgrimages,
and palmers long to seek strange shores
and far-off shrines known in various lands, and,
especially, from the ends of every shire
in England they come to Canterbury,
to seek the holy, blissful martyr
who helped them when they were sick.

Duncan

When April with his showers sweet with fruit
The drought of March has pierced unto the root
And bathed each vein with liquor that has power
To generate therein and sire the flower;
When Zephyr also has, with his sweet breath,
Quickened again, in every holt and heath,
The tender shoots and buds, and the young sun
Into the Ram one half his course has run,
And many little birds make melody
That sleep through all the night with open eye
(So Nature pricks them on to ramp and rage)-
Then do folk long to go on pilgrimage,
And palmers to go seeking out strange strands,
To distant shrines well known in sundry lands.
And specially from every shire's end
Of England they to Canterbury wend,
The holy blessed martyr there to seek
Who helped them when they lay so ill and weak.

Kline

When that April with his showers sweet
The drought of March has pierced root deep,
And bathed each vein with liquor of such power
That engendered from it is the flower,
When Zephyrus too with his gentle strife,
To every field and wood, has brought new life
In tender shoots, and the youthful sun
Half his course through the Ram has run,
And little birds are making melody,
Who all the night with open eye do sleep –
Nature their hearts in every way so pricks –
Then people long to go on pilgrimage,
And palmers who seek out foreign strands,
To far-off shrines, renowned in sundry lands;
And specially, from every shire’s end
Of England, down to Canterbury they wend,
The holy blissful martyr there to seek,
Who had aided them when they were sick.

Mantyk

When April’s sweetest showers downward shoot,
The drought of March is pierced right to the root
Through every vein with liquid of such power
And virtue that it generates the flower;
When Zephyrus too exhales his breath so sweet
Inspiring in ground beneath the feet
The tender crops, and there’s a youthful sun,
His second half course through the Ram now run,
And little birds start making melodies
Who sleep all night eyes open in the trees
(For Nature pricks them in each little heart),
On pilgrimage then folks desire to start.
The palmers seek to make their travel plans
For far-off shrines renowned in sundry lands.
Especially from every English town
To Canterbury now their steps are bound,
To seek the holy blissful martyr quick
Who helped them out when once they had been sick.

A verdict?

I’m not sure I can reach a clear verdict. One can see all the variations here. Some are loose and free, others precise and somewhat lifeless.

The ones that caught my eye, preserving the power and drive of the original, are (in no particular order), the Hopper, Ecker & Crook, Kline, and the Harvard translation. I find that I favor the translations that are the most compact, keeping the rhythmic drive of Chaucer alive. Your mileage may vary!

I must again say that Hamman’s translation of the few lines she did, were evocative and powerful in a way that none of the other translations gave to me!

I think I am going to read the Harvard version, focusing on the Middle English original, with the translation readily at hand, while I look for a copy of Hopper, which also has the intralinear translation.

I recently attended a session at the Boston Early Music Festival featuring songs from Richard’s era; the performance also contained a brief spoken recitation of excerpts of two letters between Richard and Saladin. It was fun to hear them spoken aloud, and the extant letters are sufficiently interesting and brief to recount them all there. They are also topical, given recent events in the Middle East; war and diplomacy go hand and glove, then and now.

It is little appreciated that during the Third Crusade, negotiations between Richard and Saladin began from almost the day Richard arrived at Acre (in modern day Israel) to assist the siege. Baha al-Din, Saladin’s personal confident and historian, records the following, shortly after Richard arrived.

A messenger came to us with the following message: ‘It is the custom of kings when they happen to be near one another to send each other mutual presents and gifts. Now I have in my possession a gift worthy the sultan's acceptance, and I ask permission to send it to him.’
—A letter from Richard to Saladin, June 1191, as recounted by Baha al-Din

If you want to read more about the negotiations, I covered them in detail at the link below. But today we focus on the letters themselves.

It is not customary for kings to meet, unless they have previously laid the foundations of a treaty; for after they have spoken together and given one another the tokens of mutual confidence that are natural in such circumstances, it is not seemly for them to make war upon one another. It is therefore absolutely essential that the preliminaries should be arranged first of all.
—Saladin’s response, as recorded by Baha al-Din

When Richard landed at Acre, the siege had been underway for close to two years; he rapidly brought the siege to a successful end. His former friend and now mortal enemy Philip, the King of France, left afterward in a bit of a huff, ostensibly for health reasons but in reality because he wanted to try to take some of Richard’s lands in France. Richard records the victory and Philip’s departure in a letter home, as recorded by the contemporary historian Roger of Hoveden.

Richard, by the grace of God, king of England, duke of Normandy and Aquitaine, and earl of Anjou, to N., his dearly beloved and faithful subject, greeting. Know, that after the capture of Acre, and after the departure of my lord the king of France from us at Acre, who there basely abandoned the purpose of his pilgrimage, and broke his vow, against the will of God, to the eternal disgrace of himself and of his realm, we took the road to Jaffa; and when we approached near Arsuf, Saladin met us with a mighty host of his Saracens, and made an attack upon us. However, by the mercy of God, we lost not a man on this day, with the exception of one of extreme valour, and much endeared to the whole army by his merits, namely, James of Avesnes, who was ever ready and devoted, like a stay and support to the army, in all holiness and in the sincerity of the faith, for many years past, to serve God in the army of the Christians. After this, by the will of God, we arrived at Jaffa. We fortified that city with trenches and a wall, making it our purpose everywhere, to the very best of our power, to promote the interests of Christianity. Also, on a second day, being the vigil of the Nativity of Saint Mary, Saladin lost an infinite number of his great men, and taking to flight, as though bereft of the benefit of all aid and counsel, laid waste the whole of the land of Sulia. Further, on the third day before the rout of Saladin, we were wounded in the left side with a javelin, but by the grace of God have now recovered from the effects thereof. Know, also, that by the grace of God, we hope within twenty days after the Nativity of our Lord, to recover the Holy City of Jerusalem, and the Sepulchre of our Lord, after effecting which we shall return home. Witness ourselves at Jaffa, on the first day of October.
—A letter from Richard to England, written at Jaffa on October 1, 1191, as recorded by Roger of Hoveden

The Third Crusade continued thereafter, a bloody struggle with neither side gaining the upper hand. In October, Richard tried negotiation again:

I am to salute you and tell you that the Muslims and the Franks are bleeding to death, the country is utterly ruined and goods and lives have been sacrificed on both sides. The time has come to stop this. The points at issue are Jerusalem, the Cross, and the land. Jerusalem is for us an object of worship that we could not give up even if there were only one of us left. The land from here to the other side of the Jordan must be consigned to us. The Cross, which for you is simply a piece of wood with no value, is for us of enormous importance. If you will return it to us, we shall be able to make peace and rest from this endless labor.
—From the hand of Richard, a letter to Saladin, October 17, 1191

Saladin’s response:

Jerusalem is as much ours as yours. Indeed it is even more sacred to us than it is to you, for it is the place from which our Prophet made his ascent into heaven and the place where our community will gather on the day of judgment. Do not imagine that we can renounce it. The land also was originally ours whereas you are recent arrivals and were able to take it over only as a result of the weakness of the Muslims living there at the time. As for the Cross, its possession is a good card in our hand and could not be surrendered except in exchange for something of outstanding benefit to Islam.
—From the hand of Saladin, a letter in response to Richard, late October, 1191.

Richard and Saladin never met in person, but negotiated with the other’s subordinates. Richard with Saladin’s brother, and Saladin with various of Richard’s leadership. Still, a grudging form of respect grew between the two leaders. Which Richard was ill, Saladin sent him fruit and ice for his recovery. The tone of the letters is surprisingly friendly. It is as if each of them did not want the conflict, but were forced to fight it by some external imperative. Which given the ethos of the era, caught between religion and chivalry, might not be far from the truth.

Your friendship and affection are dear to me. I told you that I would give these parts of Palestine to your brother, and I want you to be the judge between us in the division of land. But we must have a foothold in Jerusalem. I want you to make a division that will not bring down on your brother the wrath of the Muslims or on me the wrath of the Franks.
—A message from Richard to Saladin, delivered by Humphrey of Toron, November 9, 1191

Still, they were both focused on winning their objectives, and Saladin appeared to be wary of Richard’s faithfulness.

If we make peace with these people, there is nothing to protect us against their treachery. We should make a treaty with Conrad [ed: Conrad of Montferrat, de facto Christian King of Jerusalem, and enemy of Richard] calculated to create disunion amongst the Franks.
—Saladin, to Baha al-Din, November 9, 1191

At one point in the negotiations, Richard offered to marry his sister Joan, the former Queen of Sicily, to Saladin’s brother, as part of making peace. Opinions vary as to his sincerity; in any case he found a way to wiggle out of it.

The Christian people disapprove of my giving my sister in marriage without consulting the pope, the head and leader of Christianity. I have therefore sent a messenger who will be back in three months. If he authorizes this wedding so much the better. If not, I will give you the hand of one of my nieces, for whom I shall not need papal consent.
—A letter from Richard to Saladin, November 12, 1191

Negotiations continued, as did the war.

Tell your lord, he and I can go on no longer, and the best thing for us to do is to put an end to the shedding of blood. But do not think it is because I am weak; it is for our common good. Do not be deceived by my withdrawal. The ram backs away in order to butt.
—A message from Richard to Saladin, July 1192, via Bahāʾ al-Dīn

The winter that year was treacherous, the Crusaders cold and miserable, the Muslims running out of troops and supplies.

I am anxious to deserve your friendship and goodwill; I have no desire to be a Pharaoh to rule over this land, and I do not suppose you wish to be so either. It is not right for you to allow all the Muslims to perish, nor for me to suffer all our Franks to be killed. Now, there is Count Henri, my sister's son, whom I have put in possession of all these districts; I commend him and all his troops to you. If you invite him to accompany you on an expedition to the East, he will be willing. On many occasions monks who have been turned out have petitioned you for churches, and you have never shown yourself niggardly, and now I beg you to give me a church. I promise to renounce all that was unpleasing to you in my former negotiations with al-Adil [ed: Saladin’s brother], and to relinquish all idea of it. Will you not, then, give me a barren spot, and the ruin of its shrine?
—Richard asks Saladin to give him the Holy Sepulchre, July 1192, via Bahāʾal-Dīn

Since you trust us with such trust, and as one good turn deserves another, the Sultan will treat your sister's son like one of his own sons, of which you shall shortly receive proof. He grants you the largest of all the churches—the Church of the Resurrection—and he will share the rest of the country with you; the cities of the coast-districts, which you now hold, shall remain in your possession; the strongholds we occupy in the hill country shall continue in our hands, and the country lying between the mountains and the coast-districts1 shall be shared equally between us; Ascalon and the places beyond that city shall be demolished, and belong neither to you nor to us. If you are desirous of a grant of some of its villages you shall have them.
—Saladin’s response to Richard’s letter, July 27th, 1192, Bahāʾ al-Dīn

Though the outlines of a peace were thus drawn, the war was not over. Richard retreated to Acre to rest; he was sick again, as he had been a number of times during his campaign. The word came that Saladin had attacked the city of Jaffa, down the coast. Richard quickly sailed to Jaffa, and accomplished one of his most impressive military victories, worthy of a separate account. But though Richard was victorious, the battle was not decisive. Another truce was negotiated, this one lasting three years.

I have only asked for a truce of three years for the purpose of revisiting my country, and collecting more men and money, wherewith to return and rescue all the land of Jerusalem from your domination—if, indeed, you should have the courage to face me in the field.
—A message from Richard to Saladin, after the truce was concluded.

I entertain such an exalted opinion of your honour, magnanimity, and general excellence, that I would rather lose my dominions to you than to any other king that I have ever seen—always supposing that I am obliged to lose my dominions at all.
—Saladin’s response

Richard planned to return home; the truce would allow him to deal with his rebellious brother John, or so he thought.

Fate had other ideas.

…we have thought proper to inform your nobleness by means of these presents, that while the enemy of our empire and the disturber of your kingdom, Richard, king of England, was crossing the sea for the purpose of returning to his dominions, it so happened that the winds brought him, the ship being wrecked onboard of which he was, to the region of Istria, at a place which lies between Aquileia and Venice, where, by the sanction of God, the king, having suffered shipwreck, escaped, together with a few others. A faithful subject of ours, …hearing that he was in their territory, and calling to mind the treason and treachery and accumulated mischief he had been guilty of in the Land of Promise, pursued him with the intention of making him prisoner.
—A letter from Emperor Henry VI to King Philip of France, December 28, 1192 via Roger of Hoveden

Sources

None of the letters survive as independent writings, they are all documented in contemporary histories, by parties well known to Richard and Saladin, so there is little reason to doubt the basics of the letters. Bahāʾ al-Dīn was a confidant and personal historian of Saladin and with him during the Third Crusade. His The Rare and Excellent History of Saladin contains a wealth of fascinating deals and documents the crusade from the Muslim perspective, amongst which are some of the letters above. Roger of Hoveden was one of Richard’s advisors as well as a historian, and was with Richard on crusade. The Annals of Roger of Hoveden contains some of letters mentioned above. You can purchase our edition of his Annals here.

“Rockstars of the Middle Ages,” a modern song by Francis Cabrel.

As I mentioned recently, I had a chance to attend the Boston Early Music Festival. One event caught my attention: A Gallery of Kings: Uses and Abuses of Power, ca. 1300. Hm…sounds timely for today, and timely for this substack! The program is (was) chock full of Troubadour-era hits, including many you’ve probably heard in one our posts.

The event was organized into sections: The King is Dead - Long Live the King!, Of Penitential Kings, Of Abusive Kings, Amour, Of Courageous Kings, and Here My Song Ends. The program was constructed by Anne Azéma, the director of The Boston Camerata, who performed (and sang, and played the hurdy-gurdy!). At the conclusion, she spoke briefly about the program. There was no doubt a political edge to a program about “kings” given recent events, especially here in the United States. But refreshingly, her message was positive and optimistic: as we listen to songs from a thousand years ago about good and bad kings, we should be optimistic, and encouraged, because here we are a thousand years later, still listening, and arguably in a far better state than then, a sort of “this too shall pass” message. The audience applause indicated they appreciated her message. I certainly did, for she said in different words one of the reasons I study this period—for the light it sheds on today.

Ok, but back to trash talk.

The troubadours were the rock stars of their age. We’ve covered them so I won’t spend time on generalities, but they were (usually) nobility, typically (but not always) male, but almost always well-known in their culture. They also did not hesitate to call people out. Think of them as the Eminem of their age.

Many of the songs in the program were in this vein. It was wonderful to hear Richard the Lionheart’s song Ja Nus Hons Pris performed live. He wrote it from prison, awaiting his ransom after being captured returning from Crusade, and the song made its way across Europe. And he called out the people he thought were betraying him:

Companions whom I love, and still do love,
Geoffroi du Perche and Ansel de Caieux,
Tell them, my song, that they are friends untrue.
Never to them did I false-hearted prove;
But they do villainy if they war on me, —
While I lie here, unfree.

Tamely phrased, but the knife is there. A few more excerpts from the program give you the flavor.

King Mark, miserable old and frail,
Unable to do anything well,
You are like a mutt
Looking to pick a fight with a lion:
— Tant me sui de dire teu, Anonymous 13th century

Count Thibault, all inflamed
By passion, robed in crime,
You haven't garnered fame
For great chivalric deeds.
You're better suited, Count and King,
Old, filthy, swollen as you seem,
To study medicine; you'd bring
Your symptoms with you, every stain.
— En talent ai ke je die, Hue de la Ferté, ~1220

The King Rudolf loves God and is always sincere:
The King Rudolf stays away from all kinds of shame.
(blah blah blah)…
I do not doubt that he has a charitable heart:
He gladly listens to singing, fiddling and poetry-but gives nothing in exchange!

Artless nobility ends up with artless subjects
This is the result of small gifts.
Why should they be thanked? Why should one sing their praise?
Gift of beer perhaps? But that is praise without honor.
The nobility usually gladly enjoys singing and vielle playing, but for these people when in need, there is little money.
— Der kuninc Rodolp, Der Unverzagte, late 13th century

Translations from the program, and are by Peter Ricketts, Henry Adams, Peter Dronke, Kathleen Kulp-Hill, Samuel Rosenberg, Anne Azéma, and Anonymous.

The Camerata also performed Bertran de Born’s Bel m’es, quan vei chanjar lo senhoratge, a pointed song from de Born designed to spur Richard on to knightly prowess.

A man is young when he risks everything he has
…
A man is old when he won’t risk a thing,
and he hoards up grain and wine and bacon.
…
Arnaut the joglar, carry my sirventes both old and new to Richard, that it may
guide him; he should not try to pile up old treasure,
for with young treasure he can win merit.

This song closes with instructions for an “Arnaut” to carry this song to Richard. You can find an echo of this in my story The War Without Love, where Bertran directs his servant to address Richard. Bertran was not above “poking the bear.” In the song Molt m'es dissendre car co, he goes after Richard:

Since Count Richard wants
Benauges here by Bordeaux
more than Cognat or Mirebeau
or Chastres or Saint-Jean,
he is unlikely to recover Boutavant and
make its lord
wet his pants for fear.
I think Merlin's playing tricks on him!

and goes after Richard’s ally Alfonso:

The Aragonese lament,
as do the Catalans and the people of Urgel,
because they have no one to lead them
but a loose and lanky lord
who glorifies himself in song
and prefers pennies to honor.
He hanged his ancestor,
so he destroys himself and damns himself to hell.

The translations of de Born are from The Poems of the Troubadour Bertran de Born, edited by William D. Paden,Jr., Tilde Sankovitch, and Patricia H. Stäblein.

The performance also included a reading of a few of the letters between Richard and Saladin during the Third Crusade. They are fascinating, and I plan to cover them in our next installment!

Gustave Doré (1832-1883) was a prolific 19th century French artist, remembered primarily for his detailed and dramatic wood engravings. He also worked as a painter and sculptor, but it was his illustrations for literary classics that brought him international fame. His distinctive style was characterized by compositions of epic scale and intricate detail, and a profound sense of atmosphere. He illustrated print editions of the Bible, Dante's Inferno, Milton's Paradise Lost, and other works. Of particular interest to us here are his illustrations of the Crusades, as his illustrations are part of Joseph-Francois Michaud’s History of the Crusades, published in 1877 and containing one hundred of Doré’s illustrations.

I find these engravings very evocative. I’ve used one of them as the cover for my edition of The Annals of Roger of Hoveden. Below, we have included some of the memorable works of art that illustrate the Third Crusade, the crusade led by Richard the Lionheart.

The Third Crusade had effectively been going on for some time before Richard arrived on the scene. Guy Lusignan (who we met last week as the leader of the attack on Eleanor of Aquitaine) had by now become King of Jerusalem, lost the battle of Hattin, and was leading the siege of Acre, which had been going on for the better part of two years. The crusaders were exhausted and starving, reduced to eating grass and possibly each other, when Richard arrived from Cyprus. Doré’s illustation below shows them celebrating as they see Richard’s ships on the Horizon.

The machinery of War:

After a small matter of weeks, and the application of Richard’s leadership, the Siege of Acre was broken and the city taken. Below is a scene from the assault.

After the siege, there were extended negotiations over the 3000 Muslim captives the Crusaders had taken. Saladin promised to ransom them, but failed to do so by the appointed date. Richard had the captives executed. In medieval terms, this was not necessarily out of the ordinary - Saladin himself executed hundreds of Knights Templar after the Battle of Hattin. But by today’s standards, we would call it war crime. Doré’s illustration captures the dark day.

Following the siege of Acre, Richard marched his troops down the coast, the Mediterranean on his right and Saladin’s troops on his left. There were running battles as they marched down the coast. Doré’s illustrations capture the battles, which culminated in the Battle of Arsuf, one of Richard’s great military victories.

Though Richard won many major victories, ultimately, the war was fought to a draw, and a negotiated truce. Richard sailed for home, promising to return. He shipwrecked in Austria and was taken captive by Leopold, Duke of Austria, whom Richard had deeply offended during the Crusade. Richard was held captive in a mountain fortress. Legend has it, with no real basis in fact, that Richard’s troubadour Blondel found him as he wandered through the country, singing a song only he and Richard knew. Blondel was said to know he’d found Richard when an answering chorus came from a castle window. Fanciful, certainly. Here’s Doré on the subject.

Hope you’ve enjoyed some fun pictures. Doré’s works have a unique and fastastical air to them. See more here:

I am going to three sessions. I’m excited to see the lutenist Paul O’Dette, whom I have listened to for many years, but never seen live. Tonight (at 10:30, so if you are here you still have time to get tickets!), he will perform with tenor Aaron Sheehan, in The Excellency of Wine: Songs by Dowland, Guédron, Mouliniee, and Henry Lawes, which sounds good fun. I hope they are serving wine :).

Tomorrow, very much on topic for this substack, is the session entitled A Gallery of Kings: Uses and Abuses of Power, ca. 1300, which will include performances of a number of the troubadour songs we’ve played here previously, especially Ja nus hon pris, written by Richard the Lionheart himself, and many other tunes.

Lastly we’ll see Octavia, Richard Keiser’s opera about Nero, Seneca, and The Roman Rebellion.

If you are in the Boston area, come out and see some live music!

A few weeks ago, I published The War Without Love, a short story in honor of CJ Sansom, for a memorial writing event created by Holly A Brown at Medieval Musings. The story featured the troubadour Bertran de Born navigating the tricky political landscape of the conflict pitting King Henry II against his wife Eleanor of Aquitaine and their sons Henry (the “Young King”), Richard, the future “Lionheart,” and Geoffrey.

Today I thought I would recount the history of this fascinating conflict.

Eleanor of Aquitaine, King Louis VII, King Henry II

Eleanor of Aquitaine, then Duchess of Aquitaine, was married to King Louis VII of France in 1137, when she was roughly 14. They had a turbulent marriage, and the marriage was eventually annulled in 1152, when she was about 30. Eight weeks later, she married Henry Plantagenet (then 19). In about a year, Henry would become King of England and Duke of Aquitaine. She would bear him eight children, five sons and three daughters. William IX died when he was around 2, and there followed Henry (the eventual “Young King”), Matilda (Duchess of Saxony), Richard (eventual “Lionheart” and King of England), Geoffrey II (Duke of Brittany), Eleanor (Queen of Castile), Joan (Queen of Sicily), and John (eventual King of England).

Eleanor and Henry’s marriage would also be turbulent. Henry had many sons but jealously guarded his power. Even as adults, his sons had little to no money or lands.

Eleanor and William Marshal

In 1168, Henry was beginning to think about how to sort out his various sons’ inheritances. While he was very much the enemy of King Louis (not to mention married to his ex-wife), he needed Louis’ permission for certain arrangements, as Louis was his liege lord, and Henry owed him homage for his lands in Normandy, Anjou, and Aquitaine (more on the liege lord business here). Awkward…

In March of 1168, Henry was summoned to meet with Louis. While he was away, a party of rebels, led by Guy de Lusignan, the future King of Jerusalem, ambushed Eleanor as she traveled. The young William Marshal, destined to become ‘the greatest knight who ever lived,’ saved her but was captured in the process. Eleanor ransomed him; he would remain loyal to the Plantagenet family (or at least some faction of them) for fifty years. But it is Eleanor he truly served.

In June of 1170, Henry the son is crowned co-king by his father. The younger Henry becomes known as “the Young King,” but he is king in name only—he is given no lands or money to speak of.

In December 1170, Archbishop Thomas Becket is murdered in the Canterbury Cathedral, after some of King Henry’s knights misunderstand his grousing about his conflict with Becket and murder him. (“Will no one rid me of this turbulent priest?” is the famous quote). All of Europe is outraged.

Henry continues to leave his sons uncertain about their inheritance, and their frustration, and Eleanor’s, continues to grow. In 1172, Henry the Young King marries Margaret, the daughter of King Louis. And for some time now, Richard has been engaged to Alys, another of Louis’s daughters. The intertwined nature of these two families is hard to overstate, even as they are mortal enemies.

The inciting incident of “the war without love” came in 1173. Henry’s son John is promised in marriage, and Henry decides to give away three castles and lands that are to belong to Henry the son. The Young King is outraged and slips away in the night to begin his rebellion.

It is at this point that Eleanor decides to join in—she sends her sons Richard (then 15) and Geoffrey to Paris to join in the Young King’s rebellion, which is funded and fomented by Philip.

Here’s the contemporary chronicler Roger of Hoveden:

Immediately after Easter, in this year, the whole of the kingdom of France, and the king, the son of the king of England, Richard his brother, earl of Poitou, and Geoffrey, earl of Bretagne, and nearly all the earls and barons of England, Normandy, Aquitaine, Anjou, and Brittany, arose against the king of England the father, and laid waste his lands on every side with fire, sword, and rapine: they also laid siege to his castles, and took them by storm, and there was no one to relieve them. Still, he made all the resistance against them that he possibly could: for he had with him twenty thousand Brabanters who served him faithfully, but not without large pay which he gave them.

Then seems to have been fulfilled this prophecy of Merlin which says: "The cubs shall awake and shall roar aloud, and, leaving the woods, shall seek their prey within the walls of the cities; among those who shall be in their way they shall make great carnage, and shall tear out the tongues of bulls. The necks of them as they roar aloud they shall load with chains, and shall thus renew the times of their forefathers.”

Eleanor’s betrayal of Henry scandalizes everyone, for in medieval terms, it is a traitorous act; Henry is her king and her husband, and (in medieval thinking) ought to obey him in all things. But Eleanor is Eleanor. What might be her reasons? Is it because Henry has mistresses on the side (Rosamund Clifford, especially)? He does have mistresses, but it does not seem to be a problem for Eleanor. Is it because Henry has been jockeying with the lords of Toulouse in a way that might lead to Eleanor losing control of Aquitaine? This seems warmer, and likely a good part of it. But I believe the death of Becket may have been a break for her - if Henry will do this, what would he not do? My sense is that she decided then it was time for him to go and was just biding her time. I see it as the seed that grew into this ‘war without love,’ and from there to the final conflict(s) between Henry and his sons, that will lead to the death of Henry the Father and, eventually, most of the remaining sons.

Richard is sent to war and has his first battle at Drincourt; he is about to turn 16. The war drags on, but King Henry is wealthy and powerful and has the upper hand. Then Eleanor is captured, riding for Paris dressed as a man. This was surely an inflection point in Richard’s life; he must step fully into adulthood and the leadership of the rebellion.

There are negotiations and rejections, back and forth. Henry is fighting two battles, this one in France, and one a rebellion in England. But he goes to Canterbury, walking to the Cathedral barefoot, on cut and bleeding feet, and does penance. It works. The next day, the rebellious King of the Scots is captured, and Henry is free to prosecute the war against his sons with his full attention.

Richard retreats to the castle fortress of Taillebourg, while a peace is negotiated with the brothers and Henry; the peace excludes him specifically. Eventually Richard realizes he is beaten, and throws himself at his father’s feet in tears, begging forgiveness. Which is given.

The end of the rebellion

In early 1175, Henry sends Richard to Aquitaine to destroy the rest of the rebels and their castles, a task which would take Richard the next eight years. Henry the Young King got a good settlement and money and spent the next eight years at tournament. Eleanor would be held prisoner under house arrest, held hostage for the good behavior of her sons. She would remain prisoner for almost 15 years, until Henry’s death.

And that is the end of the rebellion. Almost.

The conflict went into remission, but it did not disappear. In 1183, it flared up again. This time, the Young King went to war with Henry and Richard was on the side of his father. This time, brother against brother. By the summer, the Young King had been hunted near death in the south of France. He contracted dysentery and died, but not before he had pillaged a monastery in Rocamadour, stealing the legendary sword Durendal, famous from The Song of Roland. The Young King asked William Marshal to take his cloak to the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem, which Marshal did in fact do. Durendal (according to legend) become lodged in a rock in Rocamadour, where the sword was stolen in 2024.

Richard would eventually come into conflict with his father again and make war on him with Louis. Richard and Louis ran Henry to ground, and negotiated a settlement to the end of the war, very unfavorably to Henry. He was ill at the time and died just after the settlement in 1189, and Richard became King of England.