John de Brienne may not have come from the highest nobility, but by 1208, when he was selected as Maria’s husband by the High Court of Jerusalem, he had already established a fine reputation as a tournament champion and dabbled in poetry and music. He came from Champagne, the heart of chivalry, and (probably not incidentally) was the first cousin of the then regent of Cyprus, Walter de Montbéliard. It took him two years to raise money and an entourage of 300 knights before arriving in 1210 to marry Maria. On his arrival, he was in his mid-30s; Maria was 18.
There is no reason to believe that Maria was displeased with her husband, but their reign did not get off to a good start. While the couple was being crowned jointly in Tyre, the Saracens attacked Acre. The attack was beaten off, and the newly crowned King John boldly retaliated with raids into Syria and Egypt. Yet while these yielded substantial plunder, they failed to secure territorial acquisitions. In retaliation, the Saracens seized control of Mont Tabor, a significant strategic position threatening Nazareth. Meanwhile, the knights that came to the Levant with Brienne had fulfilled their contracts and returned to France, leaving King John with insufficient troops to retake Mont Tabor or any other strategic objective. He was forced to seek another six-year truce with the Saracens.
This might have suited Maria well, as she was now pregnant. In November 1212, Maria gave birth to a daughter, who was named after the queen’s mother, Isabella. Maria, however, survived the ordeal by only a few days.
Despite her short reign and tragic death at so young an age, there is no reason to assume that Maria would have been a powerless pawn as her daughter Yolanda became. She had been prepared to rule by her Comnena grandmother and one of the most celebrated legal scholars of the age, John d’Ibelin of Beirut. Consequently, she would have known her rights – and the traditions of her house – very well. Her consort, on the other hand, was disadvantaged in any power struggle with her by being an outsider and coming from a decidedly lower status. Had she lived, Maria would most likely have followed the traditions of Queen Melisende and might well have replicated Melisende’s successful corporate monarchy model. Unfortunately, we will never know.
Melisende, Ruling Queen of Jerusalem (b. 1105 – d. 1161, reigned 1131–1161)
Melisende, born in 1105 and queen from 1131 until she died in 1161, was the first and unquestionably the most forceful of Jerusalem’s queens. She was the hereditary heir to the kingdom and tenaciously defended her right to rule against her husband and son, weathering two attempts to sideline her. She was praised for her wisdom and administrative effectiveness, as well as for being a patron of the arts and the Church. Although largely forgotten, she ought to be remembered alongside her contemporaries, Empress Mathilda and Eleanor of Aquitaine, as one of the powerful women rulers of the twelfth century.
Melisende of Jerusalem was born in 1105, the first of four daughters born to King Baldwin II and his Armenian wife, Morphia of Melitene. At the time of her birth in Edessa, her father was Count of Edessa, but thirteen years later, in 1118, her father was elected by the High Court of Jerusalem to succeed Baldwin I. Some sources claim her father was urged at this time to set aside his Armenian wife and seek a new and better-connected bride who might bear him sons as Morphia had failed to do. Baldwin refused. Furthermore, he designated his eldest daughter his heir, and she was given precedence in the charters of the kingdom ahead of all other lords, both sacred and secular.
In 1128, when Melisende was already 23 years old, her father sent to the king of France, requesting a worthy husband for her. This appeal was sanctioned by the High Court, as all subsequent searches for consorts of Jerusalem’s queens would be in the coming years. The French king proposed Fulk d’Anjou.
Although Anjou is a small county, in the twelfth century, it was a pivotal and powerful lordship in the heart of France. Fulk’s mother had married Philip I of France, and Fulk’s daughter had been engaged to William, the heir to Henry I of England. When William died in a shipwreck, the agreement was modified, so King Henry’s daughter Mathilda married Fulk’s eldest son and heir, Geoffrey. It was from the marriage of Mathilda and Geoffrey d’Anjou that the Angevin kings of England sprang.
Meanwhile, Fulk had travelled to the Holy Land and served with the Knights Templar. Now widowed, he responded positively to the proposed marriage to Melisende, although some sources contend he insisted on being named king, not merely consort. In fact, the terms may have been ambiguous or at least open to alternative interpretations. Certainly, Fulk had a reputation for centralising power and ruling unruly vassals with an iron fist. He was undoubtedly an able military leader, a vital qualification for ruling the ever-vulnerable Kingdom of Jerusalem.
In 1129, Fulk returned to the Kingdom of Jerusalem and married Melisende, now 24. He was, at once, associated with his father-in-law in the government of the kingdom. Nevertheless, when Melisende gave birth to a son the following year, the proud grandfather took the precaution of publicly investing his kingdom to his daughter, son-in-law and grandson, who had been named Baldwin after him. This was not a partitioning of the kingdom but a means of binding his vassals to his heirs. Furthermore, when he fell ill the following year, the king reaffirmed on his deathbed that his daughter Melisende, her husband Fulk and their joint son, Baldwin, were his successors. The year was 1131 and Melisende and Fulk were crowned jointly in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre after his death.
Despite this, Fulk evidently wanted to be the sole ruler of Jerusalem. Melisende was abruptly excluded from the charters of the kingdom, suggesting she was barred from power. The contemporary chronicle of Orderic Vitalis provides this revealing description of what happened next:
To begin with [Fulk] acted without the foresight and shrewdness he should have shown and changed governors and other dignitaries too quickly and thoughtlessly. As a new ruler he banished from his counsels the leading magnates who from the first had fought resolutely against the Turks and helped Godfrey and the two Baldwins to bring towns and fortresses under their rule and replaced them by Angevin strangers and other raw newcomers … turning out the veteran defenders, he gave the chief places in the counsels of the realm and the castellanships of castles to new flatterers.125
While this was bad enough, he also appeared to seek the removal of his wife, Melisende. The suspicion was that he wanted to push aside the legitimate heirs of Jerusalem and replace them with his younger son by his first wife, Elias. His weapon was a not-so-subtle attempt to sully his wife’s reputation with an accusation of adultery. In 1134, Melisende was (conveniently) accused of a liaison with the most powerful of the local barons, Hugh, Count of Jaffa.
While all chronicles agree that the charges were trumped up, the very fact that King Fulk was presumed to be behind them induced Jaffa to refuse to face a trial by combat, apparently fearing foul play. The failure to show up for a trial by combat, however, gave the king the right to declare him (and, with him, the queen) guilty. This also gave Fulk justification for declaring Jaffa’s fief forfeit. (Which some historians suggest may have been Fulk’s primary motive in the first place.) What is notable about this incident is that the bulk of the High Court – and most significantly, the Church – sided with Jaffa rather than Fulk. This underlines the degree to which Melisende was viewed as innocent of wrongdoing and the degree to which the local nobility resented the Angevin influence.
When the royal army moved against Jaffa, the southern lords, many of them Jaffa’s vassals, initially held firm for Jaffa. Then Jaffa made a severe tactical error: he sought military support from the Muslim garrison at Ascalon. The latter was delighted to see the Franks fighting among themselves and Jaffa beat off the royal army. However, the price was the loss of support among his men. Many of his vassals (and, incidentally, his constable, Barisan d’Ibelin) deserted his cause and reconciled with the king.
Yet, just when Fulk seemed on the brink of complete victory, the Church intervened to end the self-destructive civil war and forced Fulk to offer astonishingly mild terms to the rebels. Hugh of Jaffa and those men who had remained loyal to him were induced to surrender Jaffa and accept exile for a mere three years rather than the permanent loss of their fiefs, much less their lives. Although not explicit, subsequent events suggest that Melisende was behind this agreement, and Fulk was anything but happy with it. Before Hugh could leave the kingdom to begin his exile, however, he was stabbed in the streets of Acre by a knight widely believed to be fulfilling Fulk’s wishes, if not his orders.
Hugh survived the attack and went into exile to die before the terms expired, but meanwhile, sympathy for the injured Hugh was so high that the Angevins found themselves in fear for their lives. Indeed, no one was more outraged than Queen Melisende. Contemporary historian, William of Tyre, reported that Fulk feared for his life in the company of the queen’s men. Fulk had won the battle but lost the war. He had discovered he could not rule Jerusalem as he had ruled Anjou. He could not impose his counsellors and ignore the men (and their sons) who had conquered his kingdom for him one bloody mile at a time. Most importantly, he could not replace his wife at whim but must instead recognise her as her father had intended, as his co-regent and equal in power.
William of Tyre reports that after Jaffa’s exile, Fulk ‘did not attempt to take the initiative, even in trivial matters, without [Melisende’s] knowledge’.126 This assessment is underscored by the subsequent documentary evidence that shows Melisende again signing charters and otherwise actively engaged in the administration of the kingdom. She made some spectacular grants at this time (one presumes to her supporters), especially to the Church. The reconciliation was satisfactory enough to bring forth a second son, Amalric, born in 1136.
In 1138, when Fulk and Melisende’s son Baldwin turned 8, he too was included in the charters of the kingdom. This reaffirmed his investiture along with his parents as a ruler of Jerusalem and restored the situation to what it had been at the time of Baldwin II’s death. This troika of rulers continued until 1143, when Fulk died suddenly in a hunting accident at the age of 53.
At Fulk’s death, there was no need for the High Court to convene and elect a new ruler because Melisende was already crowned, anointed and recognised, not merely as regent for her 13-year-old son but as queen in her own right. Therefore, Melisende continued to rule without debate or contradiction. Her son Baldwin III was crowned and anointed (and Melisende crowned a second time) on Christmas Day 1143. Since Baldwin was only 13, he was still a minor and not entrusted with an active role in governing.
During her son’s minority, Melisende moved rapidly and vigorously to fill all critical crown appointments with men loyal to her. She deftly promoted her husband’s chancellor to bishop, thereby eliminating his influence at the core of the kingdom with a ‘golden handshake’ that would offend no one. For the crucial position of constable, the effective commander-in-chief in the absence of a king, she appointed a relative and recent newcomer, Manassas of Hierges, a man dependent on her favour.
She could not stop the clock, however. In 1145, Baldwin III turned 15, the age at which heirs reached maturity in the Kingdom of Jerusalem. Baldwin and some members of the nobility expected he would now be permitted to rule. He was wrong, and Melisende had the law (and evidently the Church) on her side. She was an anointed queen, the hereditary heir, and had demonstrated her ability over the previous fourteen years. Because her husband had tried to sideline her, she was alert to the threat and determined to prevent her son from doing the same thing.
Although there is evidence that Baldwin made sporadic attempts to defy his mother, he failed, mainly because she had surrounded herself with (and evidently obtained the loyalty of) some of the most powerful men in the country. These included Rohard, Viscount of Jerusalem; Elinard, Lord of Tiberias and Prince of Galilee; Philip of Nablus and, through the latter, the lords of Ramla, Mirabel and Ibelin. These lords, combined with the royal domain in Hebron and around Jerusalem, gave Melisende solid control of Samaria and Judea – the heartland of the kingdom.
Yet Melisende could not undertake military action, so it was perhaps not surprising that it was in this field of endeavour that Baldwin sought to distinguish himself. In 1147 at 17 years of age, Baldwin blundered into a campaign against Damascus, issuing the arrière ban (which only he could do) and calling up all able-bodied men to defend the realm. It is unclear to what extent his mother had approved of the campaign, but when the military operation ended badly, despite the king’s courage, Melisende could blame her son.
After this incident Melisende started including her second son, Amalric, on royal charters. This is significant and suggests that she saw him as a future co-ruler – or possibly a replacement – to Baldwin. Amalric, who was not born until 1136, had not known his father well and proved consistently loyal to his mother.
But Baldwin soon had another opportunity to shine militarily: the Second Crusade. In 1148, large forces had arrived in the Holy Land from the West. In a council meeting prior to the public council in Acre, the decision to attack Damascus (long an ally of Jerusalem) was taken by King Conrad III of Germany, the Knights Templar and Baldwin III – without his mother present. Baldwin III was also entrusted with the vanguard of the armies, following the kingdom’s tradition that the frontline be led by the lord in whose territory the fighting would occur; only the king could lay claim to territory not yet conquered. Unfortunately, this campaign was another miserable failure, damaging the reputation of all participants (although the 18-year-old Baldwin III suffered less than Conrad III and Louis VII). In contrast, Melisende’s reputation remained untarnished.
Yet Melisende’s inability to physically defend the kingdom remained a handicap. In June 1149, the defeat of Raymond of Antioch by Nur ad-Din at the disastrous battle of Inab left the Principality of Antioch virtually defenceless. The surviving lords of Antioch called on the king of Jerusalem to come to their aid. Baldwin (now 19 years old) responded immediately and effectively. Naturally, the lords of Antioch had not called for the help of a woman. Yet just as significantly, Baldwin assumed political control of the principality – without any concessions to joint rule with his mother.
Melisende took note and started to reduce her son’s role inside Jerusalem by issuing charters in her name alone. Tensions were undoubtedly rising between Melisende and her firstborn. Indeed, the conflict between them was beginning to affect the functionality of the kingdom. Around this time, Melisende appears to have forced the chancellor out of office without replacing him. The appointment of a chancellor required the consent of the High Court in which Melisende and Baldwin jointly presided. They were likely at loggerheads. Therefore, Melisende tried to replace the chancellery altogether, issuing charters under her privy seal. This forced Baldwin to do the same. The two monarchs were no longer ruling jointly but separately. It was a dangerous situation for a kingdom that was always vulnerable to outside attack.
While Melisende was effectively fighting a rearguard action to retain her hold on power, Baldwin, now 20, was on the ascent. He continued to increase his following and support in the north and along the coast in the economically vital coastal cities of Acre and Tyre. He won to his side the important and capable Humphrey of Toron II and Guy of Beirut. More significantly, he rebuilt the castle at Gaza, far to the south, thereby cutting off Ascalon, still in Egyptian hands. Rather than installing one of his supporters, he wisely handed the castle over to the Knights Templar, evidently a (not entirely successful) attempt at gaining their goodwill.
Baldwin was gaining power, but many lords remained loyal to Melisende. So much so that when Count Jocelyn of Edessa was captured in May 1150 and Baldwin wanted to lead a relief expedition, half his barons failed to follow his summons. This was a serious – and dangerous – breach of a vassal’s feudal obligation and can only be explained if those barons did not recognise Baldwin’s authority to issue a summons without his mother’s consent. This indicates the degree to which Melisende’s right to joint rule was still viewed as legitimate and the degree to which men respected her ability to exercise that right.
But with Edessa and Antioch (indirectly) at severe risk, this refusal to engage in a military relief operation did more to discredit Melisende and her supporters than strengthen them. Despite having a small following, Baldwin III went north and ably negotiated with the Muslims and Byzantines. Again in 1151, Baldwin successfully campaigned against Nur ad-Din in the northeast and fought off the Egyptian Fleet’s naval attack against the coast. Baldwin III’s stature and position vis-à-vis his mother increased with each diplomatic and military victory.
Meanwhile, the queen made a grave tactical error in advocating the marriage of her constable Manassas to the heiress of Ramla and Mirabel, the widow of Barisan d’Ibelin. The marriage rewarded her loyal and landless relative but alienated Barisan’s three sons, causing them to change sides in the struggle with her son. To counter this loss, Melisende made a fatal mistake: she unilaterally created the County of Jaffa and named her favourite son Amalric count. Amalric was just 15 and, like her Constable Manassas, already a supporter. In short, it gained her little, but provoked Baldwin, who could no longer afford to let his mother ignore him. Furthermore, the elevation of his brother may have made Baldwin fear that his mother intended to replace him altogether.
At Easter 1152, Baldwin III demanded a coronation in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre without his mother. In mediaeval parlance, this was a clear bid for exclusive power. The Patriarch of Jerusalem, a staunch supporter of Melisende, begged Baldwin to include his mother. When Baldwin refused, the Patriarch refused to carry out a coronation. Baldwin countered by conducting a public crown-wearing ceremony, sparking a debate in the High Court. Here Baldwin upped the stakes by demanding that the kingdom be divided territorially between himself and his mother. Surprisingly, the High Court agreed, although it was clear that such a division would weaken an already vulnerable kingdom.
Almost immediately, however, Baldwin appointed Humphrey de Toron his constable and initiated military action against his mother. He captured Mirabel, held by the queen’s loyal constable Manassas, and forced him into exile. He then occupied the unfortified city and barony of Nablus, his mother’s principal power base. With men rapidly going over to Baldwin, Queen Melisende retreated to the Tower of David with just a handful of loyal followers: her younger son Amalric, Philip of Nablus and Rohard, Viscount of Jerusalem. Although the patriarch met Baldwin before the gates of Jerusalem and urged him to withdraw, Baldwin sensing victory refused.
The citizens of Jerusalem, long loyal to Melisende, could tell which way the wind was blowing and opened the gates to Baldwin III. Not satisfied with taking the city, Baldwin laid siege to the Tower of David, only to meet spirited resistance. The unseemly fight continued for several days, but eventually, the spectacle of the king of Jerusalem attacking the Tower of David held by his mother, the queen, was too much. Negotiations were resumed, and Melisende admitted defeat at last. She surrendered the Tower of David and withdrew to Nablus but did not abdicate.
Furthermore, and astonishingly, there was no permanent breach between the co-monarchs. As she had done with her husband before, Melisende managed a rapprochement with her son now. Thus far from disappearing into a convent or obscurity, Melisende remained active in the Kingdom of Jerusalem. As with Fulk, the more Baldwin III became engaged in military affairs, the more Melisende exerted a leading role in internal policy. This included important negotiations with the Pisans concerning their rights in Tyre, issuing charters, settling disputes, dispensing patronage, conducting marriage negotiations (notably with the Byzantine Emperor) and most strikingly, dispatching royal troops to attack a Muslim-controlled fortress on the Jordon River. Melisende accomplished all of this after her short but forceful clash with Baldwin III. Furthermore, these are not nominal acts; they represent the very essence of royal power.
Early in 1160, Melisende was incapacitated by an unknown illness. She lingered until September 11, 1161, when she died. According to her will, she was buried beside her mother in the shrine of our Lady of Jehoshaphat.
Melisende’s life contradicts modern commentary that dismisses mediaeval women as chattels or pawns. Melisende’s right to inherit not just the title but the power of a monarch was not only recognised by the High Court (i.e., her vassals) but defended by her barons and the Church. Melisende wielded real power and won the respect of her contemporaries.
Yet, the woman herself, her feelings, temperament, motives, fears and dreams are largely lost to us. A few things are clear, however. Melisende was not passive, submissive or docile. She was strong-willed, determined and tenacious, particularly when exercising the power that was her hereditary right. While we can assume she was never overly fond of her much older and domineering husband, it is harder to know what she felt towards her eldest son. That she consistently tried to exclude him from the reins of government might suggest that she did not entirely trust him. Had she loved and trusted him the way Eleanor of Aquitaine loved her son Richard, she would surely have worked with rather than against him. Yet it is just as possible that they were simply different in temperament and clashed with one another as parents and children often do. The fact that she could concede defeat and then play a constructive role in the last decade of her life suggests that whatever divided them was not fatal. In the end, they were able to work together. It is probably best to leave judgement to those who had known her personally. Here are the words William, Archbishop of Tyre, used to describe her after her death:
