Today
I continue my series of short biographies featuring the historical
figures who play a role in my biographical novels of Balian d'Ibelin.
Today I focus on the woman whose love for her husband cost her her kingdom: Sibylla of Jerusalem.
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| Sybilla in the Hollywood Film "The Kingdom of Heaven" |
Sibylla of
Jerusalem, Queen of Jerusalem from 1186 – 1190, was a tragic figure. The
antithesis of a power-hungry woman, she put her affection for her second
husband above the well-being of her kingdom — and in so being doomed her
kingdom to humiliation, defeat and almost complete annihilation.
Sibylla
was born
in 1160, the daughter of Amalric of Jerusalem, the younger brother of
King
Baldwin III, and his wife Agnes de Courtenay, the daughter of the Count
of
Edessa. At the time of her birth, her father was Count of Jaffa and
Ascalon,
while her mother was landless, since the entire County of Edessa had
been lost
to the Saracens. Shortly after her birth, however, in 1163, King Baldwin
III
died without issue, and the High Court of Jerusalem agreed to recognize
Amalric
as his heir — on the condition that he set aside Agnes de Courtenay. The
official grounds for the annulment were that Amalric and Agnes were
related
within the prohibited degrees of kinship, something the church had
suddenly
discovered after six years of marriage. Obviously, the real reasons lay
elsewhere, but it is not possible to know from this distance in time if
it was Agnes' alleged immorality (as the Chronicle of Ernoul imputes) or
fear that the
Courtenays would try to muscle into positions of power in Jerusalem (as
Malcolm
Barber suggests in The Crusader States)
or some other consideration now lost to the historical record. For Sibylla the implications, however, were severe. Her
mother Agnes was banished from court, while she and her younger brother Baldwin
remained under their father’s control.
While Baldwin
remained at court to be raised in close proximity to his father and learn his
future role as King of Jerusalem, Sibylla was sent to the convent at Bethany
near Jerusalem to be raised by her father’s aunt, the youngest daughter of King
Baldwin II, the Abbess Yveta. Thereafter, although she may have
seen her father or brother on special occasions, she would have seen almost
nothing of her mother, who promptly re-married.
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| The contemporary cloisters at Bethlehem as the look today. |
A year later, Friedrich of Tyre returned with Stephen of Sancerre of the House of Blois. Stephen was clearly of sufficient rank; his sister was married to Louis VII of France and his brothers were married to Eleanor of Aquitaine’s daughters by Louis VII. But Stephen unexpectedly refused to marry Sibylla and returned to France, squandering his chance to become King of Jerusalem. It is hard to imagine what about a young girl living in a convent could have so offended an ambitious noblemen, and it is probable that his decision had nothing to do with Sibylla at all. Very likely he discovered he disliked the climate, the food, the role of the High Court of Jerusalem, or simply the military situation as Saladin was increasing in power. Then again, given Sibylla’s obvious lack of intelligence as demonstrated by her subsequent actions, maybe Stephen of Sancerre really was disgusted with her? Whatever his motives, Sibylla was probably deeply hurt by the public rejection.
In 1174, Sibylla’s
father died unexpectedly and her younger brother ascended the throne as Baldwin
IV. He was only 13 at the time and so placed under a regent, Raymond, Count of
Tripoli, to whom fell the duty, in consultation with the High Court, of finding a suitable consort for Sibylla. This time the choice of the
High Court fell on William Marquis de Montferrat. William was first cousin to
both Louis VII of France and the Holy Roman Emperor Friedrich, and his family
had a long tradition of crusading.
William of
Montferrat arrived in the Holy Land escorted by a Genoese fleet in October
1176, and within six weeks, he married the then 16-year old Sibylla. He was
invested with the title of Count of Jaffa and Ascalon, the traditional
title for the heir apparent to the throne.
The contemporary chronicler and then Chancellor of the Kingdom of
Jerusalem, William of Tyre, describes William of Montferrat as follows:
He was reasonably tall and was a
good-looking young man with reddish-gold hair. He was brave, but quick-tempered
and liable to over-react. He was very generous and completely frank, totally
lacking in any kind of pretense. He ate to excess and was a very heavy drinker,
but this did not impair his judgment.
There is no
reason to think that Sibylla was ill-pleased with this choice of husband, or he
with her. He certainly did not reject her and she became pregnant shortly after
the marriage. Unfortunately, William de Montferrat became ill within six months
and after eight, in June 1177, he was dead. Sibylla gave birth to a posthumous
son in August and named him Baldwin after her brother.
At once the
search for a new husband for Sibylla commenced. The Count of Flanders arrived
with a large force even before Sibylla gave birth to her son, and as a close
kinsman (his mother was Baldwin and Sibylla’s aunt) he felt entitled to decide
Sibylla’s next husband. The High Court of Jerusalem disagreed. Worse, the name
he put forward was a comparatively obscure Flemish noblemen, who the High Court viewed as an insult to the crown of Jerusalem.
Furthermore, he wanted to marry this man’s younger brother (of equally inferior status) to Sibylla’s
half-sister, Isabella, thereby binding both princesses to his vassals — a crude means of
making himself master of the kingdom without actually doing the hard work of
fighting for it or ruling it. This was, understandably, unacceptable to the
High Court of Jerusalem. The Count of
Flanders returned to Europe and Sibylla was still without a new husband.
According to the
Chronicles of Ernoul, it was now, after Sibylla had been widowed, that the
Baron of Ramla and Mirabel became interested in marrying Sibylla. While Ernoul
is considered a biased and unreliable source, other sources corroborate the fact that Ramla clearly had
designs on Sibylla three years later. It is possible that it was after
Flander’s unsuitable suggestions had been rejected he started to harbor
hopes that the High Court would favor a powerful local baron over an unknown
and unsuitable nobleman from the West.
Meanwhile,
Baldwin IV took the step of associating his sister with him in some of his
public acts as a means to reinforce her stature as his heir. (His
great-grandfather, Baldwin II, had done the same toward the end of his reign to
stress that his daughter Melisende would succeed him.) Baldwin IV also wrote to
the King of France (perhaps convinced that the King of England — as represented
by Philip of Flanders — did not have the best interests of his Kingdom at
heart) and begged him (Louis VII) to choose from among his barons a man who
could take up the burden of ruling the “Holy Kingdom” (i.e. the Kingdom of
Jerusalem). Louis’ choice was Hugh, Duke of Burgundy, a very high-ranking
nobleman indeed. He was expected to arrive in the spring of 1180.
Meanwhile,
Baldwin of Ramla had been taken captive at the engagement on the Litani in the
summer of 1179, and Saladin demanded the outrageous ransom of 200,000
bezants. This was without doubt a
“king’s ransom” — indeed higher in monetary terms than the ransom demanded for
Baldwin II of Jerusalem when he had been taken captive by 1123, and more than
twice the ransom paid for the Count of Tripoli in 1174. It was clearly beyond
the resources of Ramla’s baronies to pay, and suggests that Saladin thought
(had intelligence to suggest?) that Ramla was destined to Sibylla’s next
husband and could command (in advance) the resources of the kingdom. Even more
significant: the Byzantine Emperor paid a significant portion of Ramla’s
ransom. Again, there is hardly any other plausible explanation of such
generosity except that the Byzantine Emperor also believed Ramla was destined
to become King of Jerusalem by marrying Sibylla.
It was a scenario
that appeared more plausible than ever when, for a second time Sibylla (and
Jerusalem) was rejected after everything appeared to be settled. At least the
Duke of Burgundy’s excuse was clear: the King of France had died leaving the
kingdom to his young son Philip II and the Plantagenet was predatory.
Burgundy felt he had to remain in France to defend it.
Sibylla was now
approaching 20 years of age and had been a widow for three years. Two noblemen
from Europe had jilted her, and one had been rejected on her behalf by the High
Court of Jerusalem. Her name was apparently associated with the Baron of Ramla,
who had set aside his first wife (according to Ernoul) to be able to marry her,
but there had been no official announcement of a betrothal. Then, abruptly at
Easter 1180, only weeks after Burgundy’s decision could have been made known to
her, she married the landless, fourth son of the Lord of Lusignan, Guy.
Guy de Lusignan
was newly arrived in the Holy Land, probably arriving at much the same time as
the news that Burgundy was not coming. Meanwhile, Ramla was in Constantinople
trying to raise his ransom. Shortly before Easter, according to William of
Tyre, and shortly after the news of Burgundy’s default on his promise, King
Baldwin learned that Prince Bohemond of Antioch and the Count of Tripoli had
entered the kingdom with an army. According to Tyre, King Baldwin became so
terrified that they had come to lay claim to his kingdom that he “hastened his
sister’s marriage” to a man that Tyre patently describes as unworthy of her (Guy
de Lusignan), adding pompously “acting on impulse causes harm to everything.”
With all due
respect for the Archbishop of Tyre, his explanation of Sybilla’s marriage to
Guy makes no sense at all. Antioch and Tripoli were Baldwin’s closest relatives
on his father’s side. They had been bulwarks of his reign up to now, Tripoli had
served as his regent, and they continued to be his supporters to his death. Baldwin
himself chose Tripoli to act as regent again for his nephew. There is no trace
of evidence — except this speculation by Tyre — of treason on their part at any
time during Baldwin IV’s life. Even Tyre admits that they “completed their
religious devotions in the normal way” and returned home without the least fuss
upon learning that Sibylla was already married. That’s hardly the way men
intending a coup d’etat would have reacted. In short, they probably came to
Jerusalem for Easter and, despite having large entourages with them (as nobles
of the period were wont to have), they never posed any threat to the king.
A far better
explanation of what happened is offered by the much-maligned Ernoul. He claims
that Guy de Lusignan seduced Sibylla, that Baldwin threatened to hang him for
“debauching” a Princess of Jerusalem, and was then persuaded by his mother (the
highly influential but self-serving and far from intelligent Agnes deCourtenay) and the tears of his sister to relent and allow Sibylla to marry Guy.
This explanation of events makes perfect sense and appears borne out by
Sibylla’s subsequent behavior. Sibylla had just been jilted for a second time.
She was probably feeling very sorry for herself and may even have been
wondering if something was “wrong” with her. Ramla may have been her brother's own choice for her
husband rather than hers--or he might just have been too far away at a
critical moment. Suddenly, there was a dashing, handsome young nobleman who was
paying court to her, flattering her, making love to her. She fell for him. Not
a terribly unusual thing for a 20 year old girl, who was no virgin but a widow
and mother.
The evidence that
Guy was Sibylla’s choice and not her brother’s is provided by subsequent events.
Within three years, Baldwin IV was desperately trying to find a way to annul
her marriage while Sibylla was doing everything she could to prevent an annulment.
Had Sibylla been forced into a dynastic marriage by her brother in 1180, she
would just as willingly have been talked into a dynastic divorce in 1183/1184.
She was not.
What is more, by
the time her brother and young son by Montferrat were dead, it was obvious that
virtually the entire High Court, secular and sacred, mistrusted her husband Guy and
did not want to see him crowned king beside her. Bernard Hamilton in his
excellent history of Baldwin’s reign, The
Leper King and his Heirs, admits that even sources favorable to Guy de Lusignan admit that Sibylla’s supporters “required her to divorce Guy
before they would recognize her as queen.” (The
Leper King, p. 218.) Sibylla reportedly agreed to divorce Guy but asked
that she be allowed to choose her next husband. This was agreed to. She then
proceeded to choose Guy as her next husband. By clinging to Guy as her husband
and consort, she alienated not only the barons and bishops already opposed to
her but also those who had loyally supported her on the condition she divorce
Guy. Again, these are hardly the actions of a woman in a dynastic marriage, but
very much the actions of a woman desperately in love with her man.
Normally, it is
admirable for a wife to be devoted to her husband, as church chroniclers were
quick to point out. For a queen, however, clinging to an unpopular man at the
expense of alienating her entire nobility is neither intelligent nor wise.
Furthermore, it
is rare for a man to provoke so much unanimous opposition and animosity as Guy
de Lusignan. Even if we cannot fully fathom it today, there is no reason to
think that hostility was baseless. On the contrary, Guy proved all his
opponents right when within a year of usurping the throne (since he was never
approved by the High Court he was not legally King of Jerusalem), he lost
roughly 17,000 Christian fighting men (the flower of Jerusalem’s Christian
manhood!) at an avoidable defeat on the Horns of Hattin and with them
entire Kingdom of Jerusalem! Guy himself, furthermore, was a captive of
Saladin, yet he ordered Ascalon to surrender to Saladin (when it might well
have resisted), then promised Saladin never to take up arms against him again
only to break his promise and lay siege to Muslim Acre. Guy had few if any
redeeming characteristics, but that is getting ahead of the story.
Because her husband
had led Jerusalem's fighting men into death and slavery, Sibylla soon found herself trapped in Jerusalem as the rest of the Kingdom
crumbled around her. She was the reigning, crowned and
anointed Queen, and she did nothing — except beg to be allowed to join her
husband in captivity. A queen? Asking to be allowed to go into enemy captivity?
This is more than a gesture of love, it is evidence of Sibylla’s utter
stupidity and lack of sense.
Saladin naturally
granted Sibylla the right to join her husband in captivity — what better way to
ensure that his enemies were completely in his hands? Meanwhile, the defense of
the last remnants of her kingdom fell to others. In Tyre, it was her former brother-in-law, Conrad de
Montferrat, the younger brother of her first husband who saved a vitally important port, and in Jerusalem the defense fell to the Baron of
Ibelin, the younger brother of the man she had jilted in favor of Guy in 1180.
But Sibylla’s
devotion to Guy was not broken even by the humiliation of captivity. When he
was released, she joined him at the siege of Acre. While the Christians
surrounded Muslim-controlled Acre, Saladin’s forces surrounded the Christian
besiegers, hemming them in and cutting off all supplies except by sea.
Deplorable conditions reigned, including acute hunger at times and, eventually,
disease. Yet Sibylla, crowned Queen of Jerusalem, preferred to be with her
beloved Guy than in any way act the part of queen. She paid the price. She died
of fever with both her children by Guy in the squalor of the siege camp before
Acre in 1190. She was 30 years old.
She
shares the
blame for losing the Holy Land with Guy de Lusignan because it was her
stupidity and stubbornness that left the kingdom in the hands of an
incompetent
and despised man. At no time in her life did she show even a flicker of
responsibility for the hundreds of thousands of Christians entrusted to
her care. Nor did she have a shred of royal dignity. Had she been a baker’s daughter and a
butcher’s wife,
her devotion to her husband might have been admirable; as a queen she
was a
tragic clown.
My three-part biographical novel is dedicated to bringing Balian, his age and society "back to life."
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