Rather than attempting to prove or disprove any particular theory, the objective of this work was to reveal the surprising number of famous and anonymous women who left a mark on the history of Outremer. The focus of the book has been on what women did as opposed to what others have said about them. The women are present in primary sources, but too often, they have been obscured by the subjective commentary of chroniclers or ignored by subsequent generations focused on the action and the heroes associated with military campaigns.

Therefore, it is vital to separate the subjective commentary of historians from the facts. A classic example is the ‘abduction of Isabella’ in Western European chronicles of the thirteenth century. Because Alice de Champagne, Queen Isabella’s daughter by Henri de Champagne, laid claim to the County of Champagne, French chroniclers sought to discredit this ‘foreign’ woman who threatened the status and wealth of one of their most generous local patrons. They did so by alleging that Alice was the product of a bigamous marriage and, therefore, a bastard. To that end, they needed to prove that her mother, Queen Isabella I, had not been legally separated from Humphrey de Toron. The chroniclers outdid themselves in voicing outrage and employing melodramatic language. A committee of leading prelates deliberating on the validity of Isabella’s marriage while keeping her sequestered in their protection becomes in their accounts an act ‘more disgraceful than the rape of Helen’. Maria Comnena, a princess of the imperial Byzantine family, is described as ‘steeped in Greek filth’, ‘godless’ and ‘fraudulent’. The man who offered himself as a hostage to Saladin to secure the release of 8,000 paupers is called ‘cruel’ and ‘faithless’. The subjective opinions of the chroniclers originated decades after the events and were fabricated in France by people who had never met the subjects. Yet the core of the story reveals two strong-willed women, Isabella and her mother Maria, who together saved the crown of Jerusalem from Lusignan.

Similarly, the historian Philip de Novare was inclined to attribute base or contemptible motives to female characters. His Eschiva de Montbéliard, therefore, is in ‘so great fear’ that she leaves the security offered by the Knights Hospitaller and disguises herself as a man to go alone across twenty miles of territory controlled by notoriously brutal imperial mercenaries to provision a royal castle at risk of falling to the king’s enemies. Moreover, to be sure his readers understood how reprehensible Eschiva’s actions were, he invents children she did not have whom she allegedly left behind and talks of her ‘abandoning her fiefs’ at a time when the emperor’s men had already confiscated them.

As these illustrations demonstrate, writers of history are subjective, and their opinions colour the historical record. It is necessary, therefore, to look more closely at what the women of Outremer did rather than what others say about them to find the real women beneath the sometimes disfiguring commentary. Although I have tried to do just that, I have also let the most eloquent contemporary historians speak because their voices also tell us much about the age and society that is the subject of this book. If nothing else, the praise for women we find in the pages of contemporary documents, while no less subjective than the insults, shows us this era was not consistently misogynous. William, Archbishop of Tyre, is a wonderful example of a cleric who reveals no consistent bias against women. He is equally quick to praise women such as Melisende or Beatrice of Edessa as he is to criticise other women such as Alice of Antioch.

Ultimately, all we have are fragments of a mosaic badly damaged by time. We have no comprehensive or systematic description of the society in which these women lived, much less their full contribution to it. Hopefully, this book has blown away some of the sand that hides the complete picture underneath, but there is still much to discover and reveal. The women who lived, worked and reigned in the crusader states deserve to be brought into the light and remembered.

Biographies

Agnes de Courtenay, Queen Mother (b. 1136–d. 1184)

Agnes de Courtenay, the mother of Baldwin IV, was a controversial and divisive figure in her lifetime. Despite revisionist attempts to paint her as a victim of ahostile press, Agnes was, by and large, the architect of her fate – and reputation. She bears a substantial portion of the blame for the near collapse of the Kingdom ofJerusalem in 1187.

Agnes de Courtenay was the daughter of the powerful Courtenay family. In France, the Courtenays ranked high enough for a daughter of the house to marry the younger brother of King Louis VII of France. In the crusader kingdoms, the family derived its prominence from the fact that Joscelyn de Courtenay was a first cousin of Baldwin de Bourcq, one of the leaders of the First Crusade, who ruled Jerusalem as Baldwin II. When Baldwin de Bourcq was elected to the crown, he invested his cousin, Joscelyn de Courtenay, with his former County of Edessa. Joscelyn thereby became Joscelyn I of Edessa, a position he fulfilled vigorously and successfully.

Under his son Joscelyn II, however, Edessa was overrun and lost to the Saracens due largely to the neglect and poor leadership of the new count. The city of Edessa was lost to Zengi in November 1144, and by 1150, those remnants of the once rich and powerful county that had not been overrun by the Saracens, had been ceded to the Byzantine Emperor. Joscelyn II was captured in that same year by Nur al-Din and tortured. He eventually died in captivity in 1159.

Joscelyn III inherited his father’s title without the lands or income that went with it. As titular Count of Edessa, he was to prove a singularly ineffective (not to say incompetent) leader. He distinguished himself by getting captured at a disastrous battle in 1164, and playing a key part in the usurpation of the even more inept Guy de Lusignan. Finally, he surrendered Acre to Saladin in haste against the wishes of the population – who rioted in protest because Acre was defensible and could have received aid from the West by sea.

Agnes was the daughter of the ill-fated Joscelyn II and his admirable wife Beatrice, who dealt so competently with the disaster left by the loss of Edessa. We do not know the year of Agnes’ birth, but it was probably between 1135 and 1140. She had been married, possibly at the age of 8 or only slightly older, to Reynald of Marash. She was left a widow when he was killed in battle in 1149. The following year, Agnes’ father was captured, never to be seen again. In just six years, her family had fallen from one of the richest and most powerful in the crusader states to the ‘poor cousins’ of royalty, living on a few estates in Antioch that belonged to Agnes’ mother Beatrice from her first marriage. Agnes was a widow with no dower and a daughter with no dowry. She was possibly no more than 10 years old, although she was probably a little older.

Under these circumstances, it appears that Agnes languished for some time in her mother’s much-reduced household and was eventually betrothed to a man of comparatively obscure origins and only recent prominence: Hugh d’Ibelin. Hugh was the son of an adventurer of unknown origin, Barisan, who had distinguished himself as a knight and administrator in the reign of Baldwin II and was first rewarded with the constableship of Jaffa, and, subsequently, the newly created barony of Ibelin. Ibelin was small. It owed only ten knights to the feudal levee and was a ‘rear-tenancy’. That is, the Baron of Ibelin did not hold his fief directly from the crown but rather from the Count of Jaffa. Agnes may have felt, as the daughter of a count, that this marriage was demeaning. In any case, shortly after the betrothal, Hugh d’Ibelin was taken captive at Jacob’s Ford. It was 1157.

Hugh’s capture left Agnes in a difficult position. She was between 17 and 22 years of age, penniless, her father was still in a Saracen prison, her brother was probably even younger than she was, and now her betrothed was in captivity. She may have assumed he would suffer the same fate as her father and never return. Perhaps she felt vulnerable and desperate, or she may simply have been flattered to find the king’s younger brother took an interest in her. Whether she was the seducer or the seduced or was outright abducted (as some historians have suggested, see H.E. Mayer, The Origins of King Amalric), sometime in 1157, she married Prince Amalric of Jerusalem, then Count of Jaffa and Ascalon.

There are no recorded objections to the marriage, which is significant. Furthermore, Agnes rapidly fulfilled her feudal obligations by giving the Count of Jaffa two children: a daughter, Sibylla, born in 1159, and a son, Baldwin, born in 1161. Then in February 1163, her brother-in-law, Baldwin III of Jerusalem, died childless. Amalric as the king’s only brother, a young and vigorous man with experience in war and peace, seemed the obvious candidate to succeed him. Yet rather than being immediately acclaimed king, Amalric faced serious opposition – because of his wife.

As noted earlier, the High Court of Jerusalem had such strong objections to Agnes that they refused to recognise Amalric as king of Jerusalem unless he set Agnes aside. Officially, the Church had suddenly discovered (after six years of marriage) that Amalric and Agnes were related within the prohibited degrees. Yet even the highly educated church scholar and royal insider William of Tyre found this explanation so baffling that he had to conduct extra research to track down the relationship. Under the circumstances, the official grounds for nullifying the marriage appear dubious. A more credible canonical justification for the nullification of the marriage was the pre-contract Agnes had with Hugh d’Ibelin. Mediaeval law saw betrothals as akin to marriage, and if the betrothal had not been legally abrogated, the marriage to Amalric was technically bigamous. The fact that Agnes married Hugh d’Ibelin as soon as her marriage to Amalric was dissolved supports the thesis that her betrothal was deemed legally binding.

Yet, if this were the case, it is surprising that Amalric’s children by Agnes were explicitly recognised as legitimate. Therefore, it is possible that the High Court did not so much question the validity of Amalric’s marriage as the character of his wife . Possibly, she was viewed as too assertive a woman or was already known to be a notoriously grasping one. Alternatively, as M.R. Morgan’s Chronicle of Ernoul and the Continuations of William of Tyre suggest, she was seen as insufficiently virtuous for the position of queen in the sacred territory associated with Christ. Ultimately, such speculation is pointless; Agnes was found unsuitable for a crown by the majority of the High Court. Even without knowing the reason, that was a judgement by the peers of the realm and not simply a matter of ‘bad press’.

Agnes then married (or returned to) her betrothed, Hugh d’Ibelin. When he died in or about 1170, she married a fourth time. For a dowerless woman, that’s quite a record and suggests she may have had charms not measured in land and titles and inadequately conveyed by the historical record. She had no children by any of her husbands (or alleged lovers) except King Amalric, and until his death, she had no contact with her children by him. Even after Amalric’s death, during her son Baldwin’s minority, she appears to have been excluded from the court.

Then in 1176, Baldwin IV took the reins of government for himself and invited his mother to his court. She rapidly established herself there as a key influence on her son; she had an affectionate relationship with the young king, who, by this point, was afflicted with leprosy. She travelled with him, even on campaigns, and appears to have taken a motherly interest in his health and welfare. Since Baldwin IV was unmarried, Agnes’ influence was all the stronger. Thus, although she never wore a crown, she was undoubtedly the most powerful woman in his court and, by the end of Baldwin’s reign, participated in sessions of the High Court.

At this stage in her life, Agnes was allegedly promiscuous. She would have been in her late 30s when her son invited her back to court, and she had been widowed three times. Although she had been married to Reginald of Sidon shortly after Hugh’s death, there are some indications that this last marriage was also dissolved or ruled invalid. She did not live in Sidon but resided at court. Here she reputedly took the Archbishop of Caesarea, a native by the name of Heraclius, as her lover. Afterwards or simultaneously, she was said to have had an affair with Aimery de Lusignan.

While her morals were arguably her affair and modern sensibilities are not greatly offended by a mature woman finding sexual pleasure wherever she pleases, Agnes’ influence on her son was unquestionably reprehensible. Within a few short years, Agnes de Courtenay had succeeded in imposing her candidates for seneschal, patriarch and constable upon her young, dying son. These were, respectively: (1) her underwhelming brother, Joscelyn III of Edessa, (2) the controversial figure Heraclius, who – whether or not he was as bad as his rival William of Tyre claims and regardless of whether he had been Agnes’ lover as the Chronicle of Ernoul claims – was nevertheless an undistinguished churchman and patriarch, and (3) an obscure Frenchmen, also alleged to have been Agnes’ lover, Aimery de Lusignan. Even if Aimery de Lusignan eventually proved capable, her candidates were not impressive.

However, the worst was yet to come. Agnes also engineered the marriage of Baldwin’s two sisters, her daughter, Sibylla, and the daughter of Maria Comnena, King Amalric’s second wife, Isabella. As noted above, no other actions in Agnes de Courtenay’s life were as detrimental to the welfare of the Kingdom of Jerusalem as the marriages of the princesses of Jerusalem with Guy de Lusignan and Humphrey de Toron respectively.

Humphrey was a man of ‘learning’ who’s most notable accomplishment was to betray his wife and the majority of the High Court by vowing allegiance to the usurpers Sibylla and Guy. Although Humphrey lived a comparatively long life and should have held an important barony, he never distinguished himself in any field and died in obscurity. He was not exactly a brilliant match or a wise choice of consort for a future queen of Jerusalem.

Agnes’ other choice, the man she chose for her daughter, was even more disastrous. At best, Guy de Lusignan, freshly come from France, was young, inexperienced and utterly ignorant about the crusader kingdoms. At worst, he was not only ignorant but also arrogant and a murderer. He rapidly alienated his brother-in-law, King Baldwin IV, and he never enjoyed the confidence of the barons of Jerusalem. The dying king preferred to drag his decaying body around in a litter – and his barons preferred to follow a leper – rather than trust Guy de Lusignan with the command of the feudal army.

Nor was this mistrust on the part of the barons misplaced. When Sibylla crowned her husband king, and all the barons (except Ramla and Tripoli) grudgingly accepted him, he led them to the avoidable disaster at Hattin. In short, Agnes de Courtenay’s interference in the affairs of Jerusalem led directly to the loss of the entire kingdom.

In retrospect, Agnes de Courtenay was an ambitious woman who clawed her way from comparative helplessness and impoverishment to become the effective ‘power behind the throne’ of her son. She suffered setbacks in her life, most notably the High Court’s refusal to recognise her as queen. She allegedly hated bitterly the woman who was crowned queen in her place, Amalric’s second wife, Maria Comnena. The extent to which her subsequent actions were motivated by a consuming thirst for revenge should, therefore, not be underestimated. Whether she was motivated by a conscious desire to debase those she blamed for her own humiliation or simply lacked intelligence commensurate with her ambition, her overall impact on the history of the crusader states was tragically negative.

Alice of Antioch, Princess of Jerusalem and Antioch (b. 1110–d. 1151)

Alice of Antioch was another ambitious woman who was highly controversial inher time. Again, contemporaries are quick to speak about her in pejorative terms. However, it is harder for historians to find convincing evidence of ineptitudeor malice, much less wrongdoing. Furthermore, her legacy is considerably moreambiguous than that of Agnes of Courtenay.

Alice was the second daughter of Baldwin II and his wife, Morphia. She was probably born in or about 1110, and in 1126, aged 16, she married the Prince of Antioch, Bohemond II. She was given the coastal lordships of Latakia and Jabala as her dowry, which were, in turn, bestowed back on her as her dower. Only four years later, when Alice was roughly 20 years old, Bohemond II was killed, leaving her a widow with a 2-year-old infant daughter, Constance. Since Constance was the heiress to the principality, Alice was free from the duty to remarry. Since Constance was so young, however, the ever-vulnerable principality needed a regent until Constance came of age or married.

Despite Alice’s youth, as a princess of Jerusalem and mother of the heiress, there was nothing inherently illogical about Alice assuming the regency of Antioch for Constance until her marriage. However, Alice was shunted aside with surprising rapidity, first by her father, Baldwin II, and then by her brother-in-law, Fulk d’Anjou. The conventional explanation is that Alice, unlike her elder sister Queen Melisende, had a bad and untrustworthy character. For example, Steve Tibble dismisses Alice as follows:

[Fulk’s] sister-in-law, Princess Alice, spent most of the period 1130– 1136 trying to take control of the Principality of Antioch in the most divisive fashion, and launched no fewer than three attempted coups, in the course of which she incited some of Fulk’s leading vassals to revolt and, possibly, entered into secret alliances with the main Muslim enemies of the crusader states.99

Although greatly oversimplified, this negative interpretation of Alice’s actions is based on William of Tyre’s history. Given Tyre’s fulsome praise of Melisende and his concern for the rights of Alice’s infant daughter, Tyre cannot be dismissed as a misogynous cleric. Yet Tyre makes no bones about his opinion of Alice. He writes of her being led ‘by an evil spirit’ and hoping to ‘acquire Antioch for herself in perpetuity’.100 In another passage, he claims:

The widow of the late prince, a daughter of King Baldwin and sister of Queen Melisende, was an extremely malicious and wily woman. With the help of certain accomplices in her designs, she was intriguing … to disinherit the daughter whom she had borne to her husband and thus secure for herself the entire kingdom. Then after obtaining possession of the principality, she intended to marry again according to her pleasure.101

Particularly damning is Tyre’s allegation that Alice, ‘In order to make her position more secure … sent messengers to a certain powerful Turkish chief [Zangi]. By his aid she hoped to acquire Antioch for herself in perpetuity, despite the opposition of her chief men and the entire people’.102 While alliances between the kings of Jerusalem and Muslim powers were routine throughout the history of the crusader states, attempts by Frankish lords to exploit alliances with Saracens to shore up their positions in domestic disputes consistently provoked outrage and condemnation. This had been true when Hugh of Jaffa tried to oppose Fulk d’Anjou with Muslim help and would again be true when Raymond of Tripoli concluded a defensive alliance with Saladin. In short, what ignited Tyre’s condemnation was not Alice’s sex but her politics.

Yet Thomas Asbridge has convincingly challenged Tyre’s narrative and, with it, the prevailing view.103 Asbridge suggests that at the time of Bohemond’s death, the High Court of Antioch was not as united in its opposition to Alice as is usually assumed. He notes that several key figures, such as the patriarch and the constable of the kingdom, appear to have sided with Alice. The majority, however, were less interested in legal technicalities and more concerned about effective government and defence. The 20-year-old Alice might have been the logical and legal regent, but she could not lead armies.

Asbridge further challenges Tyre’s tale of Alice sending a messenger to Zengi that ‘by chance’ fell into the hands of her father, the king. He notes the allegations appear nowhere except in Tyre’s account and are not corroborated by Arab sources. The latter is significant as it would be strange if such an important development as a chance to seize control of Antioch with the aid and assistance of its regent went unreported – if it had happened. Asbridge points out that since the prince of Antioch was either a vassal of the Byzantine Emperor or an independent ruler – but on no account a vassal of Jerusalem – concluding a defensive alliance with a Muslim power would not have been treason (as it was in the case of Hugh of Jaffa or Raymond of Tripoli), but foreign policy. Indeed, it would have been in the best traditions of the crusader states.

Nothing, however, could alter the fact that a 20-year-old widow could not lead the Antiochene feudal host. For the majority of Antioch’s feudal elite, trusting in a truce with a notoriously treacherous enemy appeared a risky option compared to rule by a strong military leader such as King Baldwin II. This majority faction favouring a strong military leader, sent to Baldwin II requesting he resume the regency that he had ably held during the minority and absence of the late Bohemond II.

Baldwin II responded promptly to the appeal of the Antiochene nobility, riding north to see to affairs in the principality personally. Although Alice initially ordered the city gates closed against him, she did not resort to force. When supporters of the king inside the city opened the gates to him, she was persuaded to submit to him peacefully. According to Tyre, Baldwin II was initially ‘indignant’ with his daughter, yet he does not appear to have been outraged. He advised her to retire to her generous and prosperous dower lands, the coastal lordships of Latakia and Jabala, which does not suggest he viewed his second daughter as fundamentally evil, irresponsible or dangerous.

Two years later, however, Baldwin II died and was succeeded by Fulk d’Anjou. Asbridge suggests this opened a welcome opportunity for the Counts of Tripoli and Edessa to assert greater autonomy. The two counts, however, wanted support from Antioch, which geographically separated them and formed the largest of the three crusader states outside the Kingdom of Jerusalem. United, the three northern crusader states stood a fair chance of ending their de facto – albeit not de jure – subservience to the kings of Jerusalem.

Alice evidently joined forces with Tripoli and Edessa, and Tyre acknowledges that she gained the support of many Antiochene nobles in doing so. Other historians suggest that growing dissatisfaction with Fulk’s rule enabled Alice to become a focal point for disaffected subjects of the Angevin king. Thus, Alice’s court in Latakia attracted, in addition to Tripoli and Edessa, the rebels Hugh of Jaffa and Ralph of Fantanelle from Jerusalem. There is no evidence, however, that she was the ringleader or that she induced rebellion against their better judgement. On the contrary, the disaffected lords and autonomous counts may have exploited Alice’s youth and inexperience for their purposes. Certainly, her actions at this point are in no way indicative of plans to disinherit her daughter. The most that can be said with certainty is that the 22-year-old princess appeared eager to take control of her destiny.

Unfortunately for Alice, Tripoli was defeated in the field by Fulk, seriously weakening her coalition. Furthermore, Fulk, with the help of the feudal army of Antioch, defeated a Muslim threat led by the sultan of Aleppo. This later event swayed public opinion in Antioch back in Fulk’s favour. Yet, Alice continued to build up her power base on the coast. Here she established a princely administration complete with chanceries, constables and other household officials – and steadfastly styled herself as Princess of Antioch.

In the autumn of 1135, five years after the death of her husband, she rode back into Antioch and assumed the role of regent without protest on the part of the High Court, the Church or the population. Significantly, this occurred after King Fulk’s attempt to sideline Queen Melisende had failed. It appears that Melisende, now firmly back in the saddle, told her husband not to interfere in her sister’s affairs, and Fulk obeyed. It is hard to imagine that Alice’s move in 1135 was not coordinated and approved by Melisende in advance.

Yet envoys had already been sent to Poitiers to seek a consort for Alice’s daughter, Constance, the young heiress of Antioch. In 1136, Raymond of Poitiers arrived in Antioch. As before, Alice could not compete with a vigorous and militarily competent alternative to her rule; the nobles and commons preferred a prince who could actively fight for them to a woman who could not. The fact that in the six years since Bohemond II’s death, Antioch had suffered several military setbacks at the hands of their neighbours weighed heavily against Alice. Losses included the cities of Tausus, Adana and Mamistra to Armenia and four other cities to Zengi. Thus, although Constance was only 8 years old – below the age of consent – she was married to Raymond of Poitiers, and he assumed the title and duties of Prince of Antioch (by right of his wife), thereby ending Alice’s last attempt to rule Antioch.

Stripped of Tyre’s pejorative assessment, Alice’s actions hardly seem particularly ill-advised or selfish, much less evil. That she failed had less to do with her sex than her refusal to remarry. Had she married a man capable of leading Antioch’s feudal host, she could almost certainly have replicated her sister Melisende’s successful model of corporate rule. Her husband could have fulfilled the military duties of the regency while she held power internally until Constance came of age and married. Alice’s regency was always bound to be temporary, but she might have enjoyed power longer had she been willing to share it with a fighting man who satisfied the demands of the Antiochene feudal elite for a militarily capable leader.

Alice de Champagne, Princess of Jerusalem, Queen Consort of Cyprus, and Regent of Cyprus and Jerusalem (b. 1193–d. 1246)

Alice de Champagne stands out as Outremer’s most dynamic and powerful royal woman of the thirteenth century. She was recognised as regent twice, first by the barons of Cyprus and then of Jerusalem. However, she singularly failed to exploit her position successfully and ended up more of a pawn than a powerbroker.

Alice, the daughter of Isabella I of Jerusalem and Henri de Champagne, was born in or about 1193. She was only a little girl at the time of her father’s tragic death in 1197 and probably no more than 11 at the time of her mother’s death in early 1205. Thereafter, she fell under the guardianship of her maternal grandmother, the dowager queen of Jerusalem, Maria Comnena. Professor Bernard Hamilton credits the formidable Comnena dowager with arranging the dynastically astute marriage between Alice, titular heiress to Jerusalem after her elder sister Maria de Montferrat, and the future King Hugh of Cyprus. However, it is recorded that the fathers of both children (Aimery de Lusignan and Henri de Champagne) had expressed an interest in such an alliance before their deaths.

In 1210, Alice was escorted to Cyprus by her uncles John and Philip d’Ibelin. In the Cypriot capital Nicosia she formally married Hugh de Lusignan and was crowned queen of Cyprus. She would have been roughly 17 years old while her husband was just 14. Shortly afterwards, Hugh assumed his majority – with a vengeance. He immediately accused his regent and brother-in-law of embezzlement and either exiled him outright or forced him to flee. In either case, Walter de Montbéliard quit the kingdom and went to the court of his cousin John de Brienne in Acre.

In 1217, aged 22, Hugh joined what we know as the Fifth Crusade and led a contingent of Cypriot crusaders to the mainland, where they made some incursions into Saracen territory preliminary to the start of the main crusade against Egypt. During the winter lull in fighting, Hugh travelled north to attend the wedding of his and his wife’s half-sister Melisende de Lusignan to Bohemond IV of Antioch. (Melisende was the daughter of Aimery de Lusignan, Hugh’s father, by Isabella of Jerusalem, Alice’s mother. She was, thus, Hugh’s paternal half-sister and Alice’s maternal half-sister.) During the festivities, Hugh became ill, and on 10 January 1218, he died.

Hugh left behind two small daughters and a son, Henry, only 8 months old. His queen, Alice de Champagne, was now a 25-year-old widow. The sudden death of her young husband, especially when he was not actively campaigning, must have been a shock. By all accounts, however, Alice was immediately recognised by her vassals as the regent for her infant son. Yet, either at the advice of the High Court or following the dying king’s wishes or, possibly, of her own accord, Alice publicly appointed her uncle Philip d’Ibelin as her ‘baillie’ or ruling deputy. Significantly and unusually, after all the liegemen had done homage to Queen Alice as regent, the barons allegedly at Alice’s request swore to obey Philip d’Ibelin ‘until her son Henry came of age’.104