The situation, however, was not as desperate as it seemed. While only 300 knights and 2,000 fighting men of the crusading host remained with Godfrey, he could call upon the support of a native population that was overwhelmingly Christian.17 These inhabitants had greeted the crusaders as liberators. Godfrey understood it was essential to retain their loyalty and harness their talents and energy.

The history of the crusader states shows that the Latin rulers proved extraordinarily adept at doing exactly that. The native Christians were not only free of the tax burdens and humiliations imposed by Muslim rule but also had opportunities to advance and prosper in the expanding crusader states. They played important roles in the administration and military and engaged successfully in trade, industry and agriculture. Over the years, many native Christians obtained wealth and power, while even those less prominent benefitted from the economic boom that Latin control of the Levant triggered. Yet, in 1100, all that was in the future, and the records are silent on what Godfrey did in his one year of rule to gain the support of the native population.

One fact, however, should be neither overlooked nor underestimated: Godfrey’s crusaders were mostly, if not exclusively, male. Of the roughly 2,300 men who chose to settle in the Holy Land, some may have chosen a life of clerical celibacy, but it is safe to assume the majority did not. Rather, they decided to ‘settle’, that is, to take up permanent residency and follow peaceful pursuits.

To foster and encourage this, Godfrey introduced feudalism. As feudal overlord, he gave land to men in exchange for military service (i.e. enfeoffed them). Notably, the majority of the bestowed holdings were not knights’ but sergeants’ fiefs. The men given land to till were not required to render knight’s service with horse, lance and sword in wartime but rather to fight on foot as ‘sergeants’ armed with a pike or bow. In short, the commoners who had fought their way to Jerusalem beside the noble and knightly crusaders were recognized as brothers-in-arms and grated land to hold in their own right, a striking privilege in the medieval world. As fief-holders they were free men and referred to consistently as ‘burghers’.

Whether knights or sergeants, holding a fief entailed working the land, and agriculture in the twelfth century was a family business. In short, these men needed wives. Some may have left wives behind in Europe whom they sent for, but most of the men who chose to remain in the Holy Land were bachelors or widowers. Since the local population was Christian, there was no religious or legal barrier to marriage with a native woman.

Marrying a local woman had advantages. First, it embedded the crusader in an existing family network with brothers-in-law, cousins, uncles, nephews, et al., who might contribute to making the fief viable. Also, the native population was familiar with the region’s climate, crops, predators and other hazards. Intermarriage with the local population thus enabled settlers to adjust more rapidly to the unfamiliar environment in which they found themselves. The archaeological record demonstrates that settlers generally chose to locate close to the native population, often sharing churches, wells, mills, bakeries and other communal institutions. Furthermore, legal records prove that the settlers did not displace the existing population but built around or beside existing communities, presumably bringing land under cultivation that had lain fallow due to centuries of creeping depopulation under Muslim rule.18

This integration and intermarriage process had just started when Godfrey died on 18 July 1100, barely a year after the crusaders captured Jerusalem. He had not married and left no offspring. This fact encouraged the papal legate, Daibert, to advocate the establishment of a church-state controlled directly by the pope through his representative (namely Daibert). The knights and burghers in the Holy Land at the time of Godfrey’s death preferred a secular state and turned to Godfrey’s brothers.

According to feudal practice, Godfrey’s older brother should have taken precedence. This was Eustace, Count of Boulogne, a man who had taken part in the First Crusade. Eustace, however, had returned to France, so eyes turned towards Godfrey’s younger brother Baldwin, who was still in the Near East.

Baldwin I, 1100–1118: The Bigamist

Baldwin of Boulogne had been born in France in c.1065, the youngest and third son of Eustace II, Count of Boulogne. He took the cross along with his elder brothers Eustace and Godfrey and set out on the First Crusade with the main body of troops in 1096. However, in 1098 when the First Crusade reached northern Syria, he and his immediate entourage of sixty knights separated from the main body to aid the Armenian city of Edessa.

Some 200 miles northeast of Antioch, Edessa was an ancient and wealthy city that still rivalled Antioch and Aleppo in importance. In 1098 it was controlled by a Greek Christian warlord, Thoros, who was the most recent strongman in a long line of short-lived warlords. His predecessors had all come to power by murder or popular acclaim, only to lose favour rapidly and be murdered or flee. Fearing this fate if he could not fight off the ever-present Turkish threat, Thoros sought help from the most recent military force to arrive on the scene: the crusaders. Thoros, perhaps understandably, conflated crusaders with Frankish/Norman mercenaries and invited the effective commander Baldwin of Boulogne to fight his battles for him.

Baldwin, whose wife had recently died on the crusade, accepted Thoros’ invitation. He withdrew from the First Crusade and made his way to Edessa, accompanied by sixty knights. Baldwin was not, however, a mercenary. He rejected material gifts such as gold, silver and horses in a bid for something more important: lasting power and control. When Thoros refused, Baldwin threatened to leave, and the people insisted Thoros give way. Thoros formally adopted Baldwin in a ceremony using Armenian relics and customs. Unfortunately for Thoros, this proved insufficient to placate an unruly population. Within a month of Baldwin’s adoption, the mob turned on Thoros, murdering him, his wife and his children mercilessly. Once Thoros was dead, the citizens jubilantly proclaimed his ‘son’ (Baldwin) doux, a Greek title that usually implied subordination to the emperor in Constantinople.

Although Baldwin of Boulougne benefitted from Thoros’ murder, there is no evidence he was behind it. The fact that he was neither well-connected with local elites nor (yet) conversant with Armenian politics speaks against his complicity. Furthermore, despite the title awarded him, Baldwin of Boulogne was no vassal of Constantinople. Yet he was not a conqueror in control of invaded territory either. He still had only sixty knights and owed his elevation to the local, predominantly Armenian population.

From the point of view of the Edessans, they had not helped establish a Frankish, Latin or crusader state at all; they had (as so often in the past) simply replaced one warlord with another. Furthermore, Baldwin’s career would have been as short-lived and forgettable as that of the previous half-dozen rulers of Edessa had he not proved astonishingly adept at building alliances with surrounding warlords, nobles and elites. That process started with the simple method of leaving the Armenian administration of the city undisturbed and adopting Armenian symbols and rituals. He also, notably, rapidly married into the Armenian aristocracy. His wife was a Roupenian princess named Arda.

As soon as Baldwin started to exert his authority, the very citizens who had ‘elected’ him decided to depose him – just as they had rid themselves of all his predecessors. Fortunately for him, one of the conspirators warned him of what was afoot, and Baldwin struck first. He arrested his opponents, threw them in a dungeon, extracted ransom payments from them and released them – without noses, hands and feet or blinded in the case of the ringleaders. Far from provoking outrage or rebellion, the Armenian Church and population welcomed his behaviour and viewed it as the restoration of law and order. They believed they had finally found a truly strong strongman. They probably also hoped he would prove capable of ending the petty wars and general lawlessness that characterised the region since the defeat of the Byzantine army at Manzikert.

At this juncture, Baldwin was called to Jerusalem to take up his elder brother’s burden. Baldwin did not hesitate and had no inhibitions about wearing a crown. He was duly crowned king of Jerusalem in Bethlehem’s Church of the Nativity. Notably absent was his wife, Arda. She had not joined him on his journey overland through Muslim territory to Jerusalem. Instead, she followed him (slowly) by sea, not reaching Jaffa until September 1101. Here, news came to her that King Baldwin had been killed at a battle near Ramla confronting an invading Egyptian army. Yet, she did not panic. Instead, she sent for help from Tancred, one of the most dynamic crusader nobles still in the Holy Land, who was then in Antioch.

The news of Baldwin’s death proved premature. In fact, he had just won a spectacular victory over the Egyptians, but his reception of his wife in the aftermath was less than euphoric. According to one account, he discovered or alleged that she had been raped by pirates on her journey south. Therefore, he ordered her into the convent of St Anne’s. Most historians consider this account fabricated and believe Baldwin’s reasons for setting her aside were more prosaic and political. Namely, her Armenian connections were of little value in Jerusalem, and Baldwin already had his eye on a more advantageous alliance. Whatever the reason, Arda was sent to a convent and then later allowed to retire to Constantinople, while Baldwin set about finding a more ‘appropriate’ wife.

Perhaps this took longer than he expected, or he was too busy to go courting. He defeated invading armies in 1102 and 1105 and expanded his kingdom with the capture of Haifa (1101), Arsuf (1101), Caesarea (1101), Tortosa (1102), Jubail (1102), Acre (1104), Beirut (1110) and Sidon (1110). In addition, Tripoli fell to forces under the Count of Toulouse, paving the way for establishing the County of Tripoli, the third of the crusader states. Nevertheless, in 1112, with the consent and encouragement of Arnulf, the new patriarch of Jerusalem, Baldwin sought the hand of Adelaide, the dowager queen of Sicily. This was a cynical move since his marriage to Arda had never been formally dissolved.

Adelaide was the widow of Roger I of Sicily, who had died in 1101. She had acted as regent for her son Roger II until he came of age in 1112. Adelaide was now in her late 30s and unemployed. She had a substantial dower and could bring needed financial resources to her new husband. Yet the greatest attraction of this alliance lay in the powerful Sicilian fleet, which would be of great use to the kingdom. Meanwhile, Adelaide’s son, Roger II, had his own reasons for the alliance. He insisted that should the union between his mother and Baldwin of Jerusalem prove childless, he, Roger, be recognised as king of Jerusalem. Baldwin agreed.

Adelaide arrived in Jerusalem in August 1113 with a large dowry in gold and allegedly 1,000 fighting men, including a company of Saracen (Muslim) archers. Yet, there is no mention of her being crowned queen. Three years later, the money had run out, and Adelaide was still not pregnant. As she was nearing an age when she would be unable to conceive, the prospect of Roger II of Sicily becoming king of Jerusalem became ever more likely. This did not sit well with the barons of Jerusalem. They suddenly remembered that Baldwin already had a wife, Arda, who was alive and well and living in Constantinople. They attacked the patriarch who had married Baldwin to Adelaide and accused him before the pope of various crimes, including concubinage and simony. Patriarch Arnulf managed to clear himself of all charges except officiating at a patently bigamous marriage. He was allowed to retain his office on the condition that he put an end to the king’s marriage to Adelaide.

Having dismissed Arda with no cause, Baldwin appears to have had as little difficulty agreeing to dismiss Adelaide. He agreed to recall Arda, and a Church synod in Acre duly annulled his marriage with Adelaide. Understandably indignant, Adelaide left the kingdom in 1117, but she left a legacy; her son and his successors were very slow to forgive the insult to their former queen. In the succeeding seven decades, they remained aloof from the struggles of the Kingdom of Jerusalem and did not aid or support it until Saladin had almost completely overrun the kingdom.

Roughly a year later, on 2 April 1118, Baldwin I died childless. He had been married three times; in all cases, the marriages appear to have been purely political. Neither Arda nor Adelaide had been crowned queen. They had not left any particular mark on the kingdom other than the hostility of Sicily. That was about to change.

Jerusalem’s First Queen: Morphia of Armenia

As Baldwin I left no direct heirs, the High Court of Jerusalem elected his successor. The choice fell on the same man Baldwin I had chosen to succeed him in Edessa, his cousin, Baldwin de Bourcq. This Baldwin had also taken part in the First Crusade. On succeeding his cousin in Edessa, he had extended Frankish power beyond the city of Edessa into the surrounding region, a significant challenge given that various rival warlords, Christian and Muslim, held castles at strategic points. Like his predecessor, he had too few Frankish troops to impose his rule and depended on the goodwill of the ruling class and the loyalty of Armenian soldiers. Strikingly, he never faced a rebellion in Edessa, only in outlying areas.

Baldwin of Bourcq succeeded largely by adopting the same tactics as his predecessor and cousin, Baldwin of Boulogne. He, too, had promptly married an Armenian wife, Morphia. She was the daughter of one of the strongest warlords, Gabriel of Melitene. Other Franks in his entourage, significantly his cousin Jocelyn de Courtenay, also married into the local aristocracy. Equally important, Baldwin continued to depend mainly on local Armenian elites to administer his territory. While a few discontents fled to Constantinople and complained, most local warlords preferred to submit (nominally) to the Franks rather than risk seeing one of their Armenian rivals win greater power and authority. Those willing to recognise Frankish suzerainty were richly rewarded with new lands, titles and revenues, while the Frankish leaders with Armenian wives became increasingly integrated into local society, honouring local saints and adopting local symbols, titles and customs.

Then, after eighteen years of ruling and integrating into Armenian Edessa, Baldwin was asked to accept the crown of Jerusalem. Like his cousin before him, he rushed overland to secure control of the kingdom. Unlike his cousin and predecessor, however, he delayed his coronation for almost eighteen months until his wife could join him. Baldwin and Morphia were crowned jointly on Christmas Day 1119 in Bethlehem’s Church of the Nativity. Jerusalem finally had a queen.

Strikingly, Morphia, like Arda, had over time become a political liability rather than an asset. Not only was she Armenian, but Turks had overrun her father’s lands, so he could no longer offer Baldwin political support or military aid. As the couple had been married for eighteen years, her dowry had long since been spent, which meant she brought no new financial resources to the kingdom. Most damning of all, after eighteen years of marriage, she had failed to produce a male heir. Instead, she had given her husband four daughters. Yet there was no hint of divorce or separation, and the chroniclers agree that her husband was devoted to her.

And she to him. On 18 April 1123, Baldwin II was captured at Balak in Edessa after coming to the aid of his cousin Joscelyn. Morphia took charge of the negotiations for his ransom and relief, but she also attempted a daring rescue. She hired Armenian mercenaries, who disguised themselves as Turkish traders and penetrated the fortress where Baldwin was held prisoner. They killed the garrison and briefly took control of the fortress, enabling some prisoners to escape before the Turks regrouped and regained control. Baldwin was not among those who got away. Morphia now made the excruciating decision to agree to ransom terms that included the surrender of her 6-year-old daughter Iveta as a hostage to secure her husband’s release. On 24 August 1124, Baldwin was set free, and Iveta was turned over to his former captors.

Baldwin was anything but broken. He almost immediately laid siege to Aleppo, where the hostages were held. Although this enterprise soon had to be abandoned, Baldwin defeated a large Turkish army at the Battle of Azaz the following year. Nor had he forgotten his daughter Iveta. Contemporary sources agree he secured her release either with the final payment of his ransom or with an extra payment.

Meanwhile, Baldwin elevated the status of his eldest daughter Melisende to heir apparent. This meant that she, with the consent of the High Court, would inherit the kingdom. There is no indication this was opposed by the Church, barons or burghers. The right of women to inherit was already well established across most of Western Europe by this time.

However, even as a ruling queen, her primary duty was to secure the succession by giving birth to an heir, while the duty of leading the feudal host and carrying on offensive warfare would fall to her husband. Therefore, finding the right husband was a public rather than merely a family concern. Just as the council of nobles from the First Crusade had elected the first king and the High Court had chosen both Baldwin I and Baldwin II, the High Court of Jerusalem asserted its right to approve the husband of an heiress to the kingdom. The High Court had the final word on who would be the king-consort of a ruling queen.

The High Court’s choice fell on Fulk, Count of Anjou. Fulk was a 40-year-old widower with grown children. He had been on pilgrimage to Jerusalem from 1119 to 1120. In June 1128, Fulk’s eldest son Geoffrey married Empress Mathilda, the daughter of Henry I of England. Fulk agreed to renounce Anjou in favour of his son Geoffrey to go to Jerusalem and marry Melisende. The marriage took place on 2 June 1129. Sadly, Morphia did not live to see her eldest daughter wed; she died of unknown causes in 1127.

From Melisende’s marriage onwards, Baldwin II treated Fulk and Melisende as joint heirs to his kingdom. Both were frequently called upon to witness charters. Fulk also accompanied Baldwin on his military campaigns, such as the siege of Damascus in November-December 1129. In 1130, Melisende gave birth to a son, thereby fulfilling her primary duty and securing the dynasty, or so it seemed. In August 1131, Baldwin returned from Antioch in ill health. Recognising he was dying, he reiterated that his heirs were Melisende and Fulk. He then took monastic vows at the Church of the Holy Sepulchre and retired from public life. He died on 21 August 1131. Melisende was 26 years old.

Jerusalem’s First Ruling Queen: Melisende

Whatever her father’s intentions, almost as soon as she and Fulk were crowned, Melisende was sidelined and ignored by her husband. He no longer included her on official documents, and tensions evidently grew between the king and queen and between the king and the High Court. Historians speculate that Fulk aroused opposition because he was – or was perceived to be – favouring Angevins over local barons in royal patronage. Problems came to a head in 1134 when one of the leading noblemen of the realm, Hugh of Jaffa, rose up in rebellion. Hugh of Jaffa was Melisende’s second cousin and, as such, a natural focal point for any faction opposed to the newcomer, Fulk.19

The king attempted to discredit his rival and wife simultaneously by accusing Hugh of Jaffa of an affair with Queen Melisende. Had it succeeded, the tactic would have cast doubt on the legitimacy of his son by Melisende and paved the way to bar him from the throne. Perhaps, this is why contemporaries feared Fulk intended to disinherit the heirs of Baldwin II entirely in favour of a son by his first marriage.

Whatever Fulk had intended, his tactic backfired dramatically. Melisende’s behaviour had been too irreproachable for the accusations of adultery to stick. And the barons and bishops of Jerusalem saw through Fulk’s transparent powerplay and unanimously sided with their queen. Yet, Jaffa also overplayed his hand by seeking assistance from neighbouring Muslim lords to help him defend himself against the king. This was viewed as treason by many of Jaffa’s vassals, who abruptly abandoned his cause. King Fulk was able to arrest Jaffa and put him on trial before the High Court. Yet, although Jaffa was found guilty of treason, he was sentenced to a mere three years of exile. The mild sentence underlines the fact that Jaffa still enjoyed considerable support among the feudal elite in the kingdom.

Before he could leave, however, he was struck down by an assassin. Suspicion immediately fell on the king, who was believed to be the assassin’s paymaster despite his denials. This turned opinion even more heavily against Fulk and, remarkably, in favour of Melisende.

The most reliable mediaeval historian of Outremer, William Archbishop of Tyre, writing only fifty years after these events, described the situation as follows:

‘All who had informed against the count [of Jaffa] and thereby incited the king to wrath fell under the displeasure of Queen Melisende … It was not safe for these informers to come into her presence; in fact, it was deemed prudent to keep away even from public gatherings. Even the king found that no place was entirely safe among the kindred and partisans of the queen. At length, through mediation … her wrath was appeased. … But from that day forward, the king became so uxorious that, whereas he had formerly aroused her wrath, he now calmed it, and not even in unimportant cases did he take any measures without her knowledge and assistance.’20

The reconciliation between Fulk and Melisende was sufficient to produce a second child, another son, Amalric. In terms of political power, Melisende now witnessed all official documents, and from 1138 onwards, her firstborn son Baldwin III was also included on charters. This amounted to a complete victory for Melisende. Strikingly, her behaviour is consistently praised, even by clerical chroniclers such as the Archbishop of Tyre. In short, the clergy and the barons of Outremer approved of a woman asserting her authority – as long as it was based on legitimate rights.

In 1143, King Fulk died in a hunting accident. At the time, his eldest son, Baldwin, was only 13 years of age and below the minimum age for male inheritance, which in the Kingdom of Jerusalem was 15. Yet his death did not result in an interruption because Melisende had always been a reigning queen rather than a queen consort. Therefore, her rule continued uninterrupted by her husband’s demise. Nevertheless, a coronation ceremony was held in which Melisende was re-crowned alongside her son Baldwin, who became Baldwin III. When Baldwin III turned 15 two years later, nothing changed in the kingdom’s government – at least, not at first.

While all was well in Jerusalem, the County of Edessa had fallen to Islam’s powerful and resurgent armies led by the powerful Seljuk ruler, Imad al-Din Zengi of Mosul. Antioch was threatened and Europe was aroused. In 1147, a new crusade set out from the West that has gone down in history as the Second Crusade, led by the Holy Roman Emperor Conrad III and King Louis VII of France. The latter was accompanied by his wife, Eleanor, Duchess of Aquitaine.

Poor leadership resulted in the bulk of the crusading host being eliminated during the long overland march. Only the leading elements of the French host and some independent contingents from England and Scandinavia that had opted to travel by sea reached the Holy Land. At a council of war, in which the leaders of the crusade and the barons of Outremer discussed what might be accomplished with the troops available, the decision was made to attack Damascus.

In retrospect, the strategy appears ill-conceived. The forces available to the Christians were insufficient to surround the city, leaving it open to relief. Furthermore, the sultan of Damascus and the Kingdom of Jerusalem had concluded a truce and were technically at peace. The campaign rapidly turned into a farce, with the Christians scuttling back to Jerusalem after five days outside Damascus. They fled before mere rumours of an advancing relief army under the dreaded Sultan Zengi.

Inevitably, everyone was at pains to blame someone else for the disaster. Western accounts of the shameful affair are full of unfounded accusations of ‘bad advice’ and ‘treachery’ by the nobles of Outremer. Yet, Queen Melisende can hardly be blamed when she opposed the attack on Damascus in the first place and (as a woman) was not present at the siege. Likewise, Baldwin III, an untried youth of 19, played no role in the fiasco. It is far more likely that the entire attack on Damascus was incited by the crusaders, who consistently failed to appreciate the wisdom of tactical truces with Muslim enemies. The reluctance on the Franks’ part to break a perfectly good truce was transformed retroactively into sabotage of the campaign.

Yet the campaign may have made Baldwin long for real power. Thereafter, Baldwin began to chaff, perhaps understandably, at being constantly under the tutelage of his mother. In 1152, at 22, Baldwin III insisted on being crowned again – this time without his mother. The patriarch of Jerusalem refused. So, Baldwin turned to his barons. He summoned the High Court and demanded the kingdom be divided into two. Although such an act weakened the kingdom, the High Court agreed. One can only speculate that the court was too divided between Baldwin and Melisende’s adherents to adjudicate an alternative solution.

No sooner had this nominal division been implemented than Baldwin swept down from his base in the north with an army. Taking Melisende’s supporters by surprise, he defeated them handily. Within weeks, Melisende found herself barricaded in the Tower of David in Jerusalem along with her 16-year-old younger son and some loyal vassals. The king proceeded to lay siege to the Tower of David, and accounts say the fighting was fierce for several days. Eventually, however, unnamed mediators managed to end this absurd state of affairs before the real enemy could take advantage of the situation. Melisende agreed to retire to Nablus,’ a large and powerful royal domain, but she had not abdicated.

Within a very short space of time, Melisende was again active in the affairs of the realm. As the lord of Nablus, she took part in sessions of the High Court. More significantly, she mediated between the crown and the commune of Pisa. She was also instrumental in securing, through a mixture of military action and negotiations, the recovery of the fortress of al-Hablis from the Muslims. In short, while she had acceded to her adult son pride of place, she remained – in retirement – an influential figure in the kingdom.

In late December 1160, she suffered what appears to have been a severe stroke. Bedridden, she was nursed by two of her sisters until her death on 11 September 1161.