So maybe she did not love Humphrey all that much? Or maybe she was more ambitious than people give her credit for? Either way, she made a choice.
Her second husband, Conrad de Montferrat, was a man with a formidable reputation at arms. He had almost single-handedly saved Tyre from surrender to Saladin in July 1187 and defended it a second time in December of that same year. Before that, he had charmed the court in Constantinople with his good looks, manners and education. He was twice Isabella’s age at the time of their marriage.
Isabella would have had no illusions about why Conrad was marrying her – it was for the throne of Jerusalem. As a royal princess, that would neither have surprised nor offended her. Isabella and Conrad, one can argue, chose one another because together they offered the Kingdom of Jerusalem the best means of avoiding obliteration. The legitimacy of Isabella and the military prowess of Conrad gave the barons and people of Jerusalem a rallying point around which to build a comeback. Notably, Isabella called on her barons to do homage to her immediately after her marriage to Montferrat; that is the act of a woman determined to establish her position and remind her vassals of it.
Unfortunately for both Isabella and Conrad, the king of England, either out of feudal loyalty or sheer petulant hostility to his rival, the king of France (who was related to and backed Conrad), chose to uphold the claim of Sibylla’s widowed husband Guy de Lusignan to the throne of Jerusalem. What this meant for Isabella was that, despite her marriage to the man preferred by the High Court, she was not recognised or afforded the dignities of a queen because the powerful king of England (who rapidly seized command of what we know as the Third Crusade) opposed her husband. Conrad responded by refusing to support Richard and by seeking a separate peace with Saladin. This can only have been an incredibly frustrating experience for Isabella, but she would have been cheered when she, at last, became pregnant in early 1192.
In April 1192, the English king finally relented, and word reached Tyre that he was prepared to recognise Isabella and Conrad as queen and king consort of Jerusalem. The people of Tyre, fiercely loyal to Conrad since he’d saved them from Saladin, rejoiced rapturously. In a dramatic gesture, Conrad asked God to strike him down if he did not deserve the honour of the crown of the Holy City. He then walked out into the streets to be stabbed by two assassins.Mortally wounded, he was carried to his residence, where he died in agony in Isabella’s arms. She was not yet 20 years old.
Isabella was, however, still the last surviving direct descendent of the kings of Jerusalem, and her kingdom had never needed her more. The king of England had already received news of his brother’s rebellion and was anxious to return to the West. The precarious gains of the Third Crusade needed defending. Isabella had to remarry, and she had to remarry a man acceptable to the High Court and the king of England. But Isabella was an adult and a widow to whom the barons had already sworn homage. They could not force her into a new marriage. That Isabella remarried within eight days is not evidence of her powerlessness but demonstrates her sense of responsibility to her kingdom.
Furthermore, her choice shows exceptional intelligence and an understanding of the precarious balance of power among the crusaders fighting to restore her kingdom. She chose the nephew of the kings of England and France, a grandson of Eleanor of Aquitaine, Henri, Count of Champagne. The count had been one of the first to take the cross and come out to Outremer to fight for the recovery of Isabella’s kingdom. He was only 26 years old and known as gallant and courteous. According to Itinerarium, far from being greedy for a crown, he was a reluctant candidate who was distressed by Isabella’s situation and only persuaded to consent when she assured him that it was indeed her wish. Certainly, he never styled himself as king of Jerusalem, preferring the title to which he had been born.
In the five years of her marriage to Champagne, Isabella gave birth to a posthumous daughter by Montferrat, Maria, and three daughters by Champagne, Marguerite, Alice and Philippa. During this marriage, a degree of stability descended over her kingdom with a three-year, eight-month truce with the Saracens signed 2–3 September 1192. Then on 10 September 1197, Henri fell backwards from a window to his death. The circumstances remain obscure. A balcony or window frame possibly gave way, or he simply lost his balance in a sudden turn.
Isabella was again a widow, and the truce with Saladin had expired. The kingdom was again in need of a king capable of leading armies in its defence. As in 1192, Isabella was an adult ruling queen who no one could force to remarry. Her barons had sworn homage to her five years earlier. She was in control of her fate, but also accepted her duty to her kingdom. Four months after Champagne’s death, Isabella married a fourth time, and again, her choice reflects her astute judge of character and uncanny understanding of power politics. She married a man with years of experience fighting in the Holy Land, strong credentials as a good administrator and popular with his peers. She chose her former brother-in-law, Aimery de Lusignan. They were crowned jointly as king and queen of Jerusalem in Acre in January 1198.
Their first child, Sibylla, was born the same year as their marriage (1198) and a second daughter, Melisende, followed two years later. Their son, named Aimery for his father, was born last but died first, in February 1205. Two months later, on 1 April 1205, King Aimery died of food poisoning; he would have been between 55 and 60 years of age. Isabella died shortly afterwards, likely shattered by the loss of her only son and her fourth husband in such quick succession. She was 33 years old.
Four of her daughters survived her. The eldest, Maria de Montferrat, the posthumous daughter of Conrad de Montferrat, was 13 years old and succeeded to the crown of Jerusalem. Isabella’s eldest surviving daughter by Champagne, Alice, married Aimery de Lusignan’s eldest son by his first marriage, Hugh I, king of Cyprus. Her eldest daughter by Aimery de Lusignan married Leo I, king of Armenia. Her youngest daughter Melisende married Bohemund IV, Prince of Antioch.
Isabella’s life was short by modern standards and filled with drama: forced separation from her family at age 8, her dramatic divorce in the siege camp of Acre, the assassination of one husband, and the death of two more. Yet, there is no available evidence that she saw herself as a victim or pawn. Instead, she rose to her destiny and fulfilled it as best she could – every inch a queen.
Isabella II (Yolanda), Ruling Queen of Jerusalem (b. 1212 – d. 1228, reigned (legally, if not in fact) 1212–1228)
If any queen of Jerusalem was powerless, it was Isabella II, more commonly known as Yolanda. She was a queen almost from birth, yet never exercised the power of a monarch. Not only was she a pawn of emperors, kings and popes engaged in struggles beyond the scope of her kingdom, but she was also largely neglected as a child and abused as a bride. Her fate stands out as the exception to the rule of empowered women in Outremer.
Yolanda became queen of Jerusalem within days of her birth in November 1212. Her mother, Maria de Montferrat, through whom she derived her title, had died at the age of 20 from complications stemming from Yolanda’s birth.
Yolanda was, thus, a half-orphan from birth, and her father, John de Brienne, was a parvenu newcomer to her kingdom. Immediately, voices were raised questioning her father’s right to remain king. Powerful voices argued that her closest adult relative on her mother’s side – the side from which she derived her title – should exercise the regency during her minority. John de Brienne rallied sufficient support for his claim to be regent for his infant daughter to retain his crown, but his position was precarious.
Less than two years after the death of Yolanda’s mother, John de Brienne married a second time, this time the Armenian Princess Stephanie. Yolanda would still have been a toddler, mainly in the care of nannies, and Stephanie might well have acted as a surrogate mother to her. Perhaps for the next six years, Yolanda had what we would consider security and happiness surrounded by her father, stepmother and soon, a baby half-brother.
If it ever existed, that idyll was shattered when Stephanie and her son died in early 1220. Furthermore, they died at a time when the bulk of the fighting men were away in Egypt, taking part in the Fifth Crusade, and the Kingdom of Jerusalem was under attack by the sultan of Damascus. Caesarea had been captured and sacked, and other cities seemed likely to succumb to the same fate. Yolanda’s father John de Brienne abandoned the Fifth Crusade and rushed home to defend the Kingdom of Jerusalem with the bulk of the Syrian barons and the Knights Templar. Yolanda would have been 7 years old – old enough to feel the pain of losing the only mother she had ever known and her little brother and old enough to sense the fear and alarm that had brought her father back from campaigning in Egypt.
Any joy she felt at seeing her father again was short-lived. John returned to Egypt and the Fifth Crusade, where his advice to trade Damietta (held by the crusaders) for Jerusalem (held by the Ayyubids) was ignored. Instead, the crusade made the fatal mistake of trying to march on Cairo and ended in a debacle. John himself had to stand hostage for the implementation of the negotiated settlement.
Eventually, John returned home to his now 8-year-old daughter, but not for long. In early 1221, he set off on a grand tour of the West, intended to raise money and troops for a new crusade. He would never again set foot in the Kingdom of Jerusalem. Instead, he traversed Europe, traveling as far north as England and Cologne but spending more time in Italy and Spain. During these travels, he secured his third wife, Berengaria of Castile, and negotiated the fateful marriage of Yolanda to the Holy Roman Emperor.
And Yolanda? Just 9 years old when her father departed, she was not yet 13 when she married Frederick II by proxy in Acre. The historical record tells us nothing about her activities during this time; we can only assume she was undergoing the kind of education thought suitable for queens in this period. Most likely, that education was entrusted to one of the convents that traditionally took daughters of the higher nobility into their ranks as pupils, nuns and abbesses.
The quality of such an education should not be underestimated. Convents had a long tradition of being centres of learning and, in the early thirteenth century, were still home to intellectual inquiry and debate. At a minimum, Yolanda learned to read and write in French and Latin. She may also have studied Greek, given how widespread the language was in the Holy Land and the existence of many religious texts still available in the original Greek. She would have been expected to know Christian dogma and theology, which entailed reading the Bible and other religious texts. She would have had a command of arithmetic, though not necessarily geometry or algebra. Yolanda would also have studied the history of her kingdom and its most important supporters, such as the Holy Roman Empire, France and England. She would probably have been educated about the kingdom’s enemies, possibly including some knowledge of Arabic. (Many of Jerusalem’s nobles were fluent in Arabic, and it was the native tongue of a substantial minority of the population, both Christian and Muslim.) Some knowledge of the natural sciences, particularly human biology and fundamental methods for treating common illnesses and injuries, might also have been included in the curricula. Mandatory studies would have included etiquette, protocol, spinning and needlework.
Yolanda’s education would hardly have been considered complete, however, when envoys from the Holy Roman Emperor arrived in Acre with the news that her father had negotiated her marriage to the most powerful monarch on earth, a man already calling himself ‘the Wonder of the World’. The wedding followed almost immediately. Still only 12 years old, Yolanda was married by proxy to Frederick in Acre and crowned queen in Tyre before setting sail with a large escort of prelates and noblemen for Apulia. She arrived at Brindisi and married Frederick II on 9 November 1225; it was just days before or after her thirteenth birthday. Her bridegroom was a 30-year-old widower who maintained a harem in the Sicilian tradition.
The marriage got off to a terrible start. John de Brienne had negotiated the marriage with either implicit or explicit assurances from the emperor that John would remain king of Jerusalem until his death. He saw the marriage of his daughter to the Holy Roman Emperor as a means of securing aid in the form of cash and troops to defend his kingdom. Frederick Hohenstaufen, however, declared himself king of Jerusalem the day after the wedding and insisted the barons who had escorted Yolanda to Italy swear fealty to him at once.
John de Brienne was outraged, and so was the Master of the Teutonic Knights, Herman von Salza, who had been instrumental in the negotiations. The latter’s indignation strongly suggests that Brienne had not simply been deluding himself. It appears that Frederick had intentionally misled Brienne about his intentions or had lied outright. In any case, Frederick instantly made an enemy of his father-in-law, and the breach ensured that Yolanda never saw her father again.
Perhaps, given how often he had been away during her short life, Yolanda did not miss him, but she found no comfort or companionship from her husband either. Although it is hard to distinguish facts from propaganda, the tales of Yolanda’s marriage are unremittingly negative. The horror stories start with one contemporary chronicle that claims Frederick scorned his bride on the wedding night to seduce one of her ladies instead. Several sources agree that ‘soon after the marriage, Frederick imprisoned, or otherwise maltreated, his wife’.124
Within six months, Yolanda’s father was openly at war with her husband by supporting the ever-rebellious Lombard League. Allegedly, the frustrated emperor took out his rage on his 13-year-old bride, beating her so brutally that she miscarried the child she was carrying, according to the Chronicle of Ernoul. Whether her husband’s abuse was the cause, Yolanda miscarried a child at about this time; she would have been at most 14 years of age.
Meanwhile, Frederick was under increasing pressure to fulfil his repeated promises to go to the aid of the Holy Land. He had first taken crusading vows in 1215 and eleven years later had nothing but excuses to show for it. During the negotiations for his marriage to Yolanda, he had promised to set out on crusade no later than August 1227 or face excommunication. In the summer of 1227, a great army was assembled in Apulia with the goal of liberating Jerusalem from Muslim control, but before the crusaders could embark, they were devastated by a contagious disease that killed thousands. Frederick boarded a vessel but was so ill that his companions urged him to turn back. Frederick put about and landed not in the Holy Land but in Sicily. The pope promptly excommunicated him.
And Yolanda? She remained imprisoned in Frederick’s harem. He had not even thought to take her with him when he set off for her kingdom. She was also soon pregnant again.
On 5 May 1228, ten days after delivering a son, Yolanda of Jerusalem died. She was not yet 16. Although she had been a queen almost from the day of her birth, not once had she exercised the authority to which she had been born.
Frederick hardly took any notice of her demise. He continued to claim her kingdom as his own, despite denying his father-in-law the same dignity. Because of his disregard for the laws and customs of Yolanda’s kingdom, he soon found himself at loggerheads with the barons of Jerusalem. In the end, Yolanda’s subjects defeated her husband, but only decades after she had been sacrificed on the altar of her father and husband’s ambitions.
The extent to which Yolanda was a helpless pawn in this game of kings, popes and barons is striking. It is particularly noteworthy when one considers how powerful her predecessors had been. Queen Melisende commanded the support of barons and bishops to such an extent that her husband was forced to submit to her will. Sibylla refused to cave into pressure from her brother King Baldwin IV and foisted her (utterly unsuitable) candidate for king upon the entire kingdom. Isabella I went through four husbands but was never pushed off the stage, imprisoned, neglected or ignored. She remained queen of Jerusalem after her fourth husband’s death. Was it just circumstances, particularly Yolanda’s youth, that condemned her to a life little better than a slave’s? Or was it the interplay of personalities? Emperor Frederick was certainly full of pompous pride and arrogance, but could a different girl have confronted him more forcefully or defended her undeniable rights more effectively? We will never know.
Iveta, Princess of Jerusalem, Abbess of St Lazarus at Bethany (b. 1120 – d. 1178)
Iveta is too readily dismissed as insignificant because modern readers underestimate the independence and influence of women in the Church in this period. Iveta was an abbess at a time when the power of women in such a position was at its height, as the examples of Hildegard von Bingen, Mathilda of Fontevrault and Herrad of Landsberg illustrate. There is no evidence to support the thesis that Iveta was forced to take the veil against her will. Iveta’s biography is a reminder that women in the clerical sphere enjoyed a high degree of independence and power.
Iveta was the youngest of the four daughters born to King Baldwin II of Jerusalem by his Queen, Morphia. Born in 1120, she was the only one of his children born after Baldwin II was crowned king. Furthermore, her older sisters were substantially older, Melisende by fifteen years, Alice by ten, and Hodierna by nine. Therefore, it is unlikely she had a close relationship with any of them.
Furthermore, Iveta was just 3 years old when her father was taken captive by the Saracens, and 4 or 5 when she was sent into Saracen captivity as a hostage for the payment of her father’s ransom. Although, as discussed above, there is no evidence that Iveta was mistreated, much less sexually abused, it would surely have been a traumatic experience for a 5-year-old to leave her home and family. At least one nurse probably accompanied her, perhaps a nurse known for her piety whose mandate was to protect Iveta from attempts to convert her to Islam. Certainly, she would have been aware that she was in the hands of ‘the enemy’ and among people speaking a different language and following a different faith.
Iveta spent roughly eighteen months in Saracen hands until her father had paid off his ransom; she was returned to Jerusalem in 1125. One presumes she was relieved to be reunited with her mother and sisters. But that joy was tragically short-lived. Her mother died within a year in 1126, and the marriages of her sisters Alice and Hodierna to the Prince of Antioch and the Count of Tripoli respectively, followed shortly afterwards. It is not unreasonable to suppose that Iveta felt lonely, possibly even out of place or unwanted. Yet her eldest sister Melisende was still in Jerusalem and, at 21, may well have become a surrogate mother to her. Undoubtedly, the sisters remained close all their lives.
In 1134, at the age of 14 and an adult under mediaeval law, Iveta entered the Benedictine convent of St Anne in Jerusalem, as a novice. There is no reason to believe she was forced into the convent against her will, much less to suppose she was sequestered there following a scandal of some kind. Four years later, she entered the newly founded nunnery at St Lazarus in Bethany, which had been lavishly endowed by her sister Melisende, now the ruling queen. Indeed, Melisende’s patronage continued throughout her reign, and Bethany prospered both from royal gifts and the considerable pilgrimage traffic to the site of St Lazarus’ tomb and the home of Mary and Martha, beside which the convent was located.
Iveta was elected abbess by the convent chapter in 1144 at age 24. In this capacity, she took charge of the substantial financial resources, management of the various estates, upkeep of the buildings and pilgrimage sites and administration of the convent itself with its population of nuns and lay sisters. Iveta was, in short, an independent and wealthy landlord with her own seal, household and staff. She is credited with influencing ecclesiastical appointments due to her position and royal blood. She nursed her sister Melisende at the end of the latter’s life and was likely with the queen when she died in 1161.
Two years later, after her nephew Amalric had set aside his wife Agnes de Courtenay in order to wear the crown of Jerusalem, Iveta was entrusted with rearing King Amalric’s daughter by Agnes, Princess Sibylla. Sibylla was 4 years old, close to the same age Iveta had been when she was a hostage of the Saracens. Sibylla remained under Iveta’s care for thirteen years, receiving a rigorous education until her marriage to William of Montferrat in 1176 at the age of 17.
