Robert Curthose, Duke of Normandy

The tale of Guinemer of Boulogne and his fleet of Christian pirates, as told by Albert of Aix, must also meet with rougher handling than it has yet received, and for the following reasons: (1) The description of this fleet with its “masts of wondrous height, covered with purest gold, and refulgent in the sunlight”[31] is not such as to inspire confidence, particularly in such a writer as Albert of Aix, where one expects at any time to meet with the use of untrustworthy poetical materials. (2) As the narrative proceeds it becomes self-contradictory. At one point we are told that Guinemer was captured by the Greeks during the siege of Antioch, whereas at another he seems to have held Laodicea throughout the siege—since he turned it over to Count Raymond after the siege—; and his capture and imprisonment by the Greeks are placed still later. (3) Albert of Aix is in direct contradiction with Raymond of Aguilers, the best of all our authorities, who tells us that the English held Laodicea during the whole of the siege of Antioch and rendered important services to the crusaders; whereas, according to Albert’s account, Guinemer and his pirates held it and refused to aid the crusaders. (4) Not a scrap of evidence concerning Guinemer and his pirates has come to light in any source except Albert of Aix—unless perchance their fleet is to be identified with the ships which, according to Kemal ed-Din, came from Cyprus 19 August 1097, pillaged Laodicea, and sailed away;[32] and this seems unlikely. (5) In any case, outside the pages of Albert of Aix, evidence is lacking that such a piratical fleet held Laodicea for any considerable period; and apparently the only reason why Riant and Chalandon have accepted this fantastical tale of Guinemer and the Christian pirates is the fancied possibility of connecting it with the letter which, according to Anna Comnena, the Emperor wrote at an undetermined date to Raymond of Toulouse, directing him to hand over Laodicea to Andronicus Tzintzilucas. But Riant and Chalandon have somewhat arbitrarily assigned this letter to the first half of 1099. If Raymond was directed to hand Laodicea over, he must have possessed it. Therefore, so the argument seems to run, the Guinemer episode should be accepted as explaining how Raymond came into possession of Laodicea. But, as has already been pointed out, this explanation involves a serious chronological inconsistency. Further, the evidence is not conclusive that the letter ever existed—it rests upon the sole statement of Anna Comnena—and, if it did exist, it may with more reason, and with less violence to Anna’s chronology, be assigned to the period between September 1099 and June 1100, when Raymond is known to have been in possession of Laodicea and on terms of close understanding with the Emperor.[33]

The foregoing considerations are not, it may be conceded, sufficient to prove that there is no shadow of truth in the tale of Guinemer and the pirates; but they do constitute a strong case against the narrative as it stands, and suggest the probability that it is one of the strange pieces of fiction occasionally to be met with in the pages of Albert of Aix.

Having now somewhat cleared the ground, it is possible to set forth the probable course of events at Laodicea on the basis of the more reliable sources.

There can be little doubt that Laodicea had already been taken from the Turks when the crusaders arrived at Antioch, 21 October 1097;[34] and we may accept without question the statement of Raymond of Aguilers—which Riant and Chalandon appear to ignore without reason—that it was taken by the English, who had come by sea, and who held it during the siege of Antioch and assisted the land forces by protecting commerce and keeping communications open with Cyprus and the other islands. These English mariners were unquestionably acting in coöperation with the Emperor,[35] who at this time, as Chalandon has shown, was supporting the crusaders in accordance with his treaty obligations.[36]

At some time during the siege of Antioch by the Christians Robert Curthose was called to Laodicea by the English—probably because of dangers on the landward side which made their situation there precarious—and he remained there for a time, in the enjoyment of ease and plenty, until he was obliged by repeated summonses and by a threat of ecclesiastical censure to return to Antioch.[37] The date of Robert’s sojourn at Laodicea cannot be determined with certainty, but it may probably be assigned to December-January 1097-98,[38] 8 February being the extreme limit for his return to the siege.[39] Yet there is no record of his presence at Antioch between 9 February and the beginning of June, or between the end of June and 11 September; and the possibility of his having paid more than one visit to Laodicea must be recognized. The accounts of Ralph of Caen and of Ordericus Vitalis, interpreted strictly, point to sojourns in the spring and in the summer of 1098; but the chronology of these authors is not trustworthy, and it is not unlikely that they have fallen into inaccuracies here, and that they really refer to Robert’s earlier sojourn at Laodicea, for which we have the indirect but more reliable evidence of Raymond of Aguilers.

The arrangements which were made at Laodicea upon Robert’s final departure before his advance to Jerusalem must remain a matter of doubt. According to Ordericus Vitalis and Guibert of Nogent he left a garrison, which was later driven out by the citizens. Guibert is curiously circumstantial. He says that the citizens, unable to bear the duke’s excessive exactions, drove his men from the citadel, threw off his domination, and abjured the use of the money of Rouen. But this incident is confirmed by none of the early writers who were in the East; and in the absence of any other evidence of Robert’s having attempted to secure for himself a private possession in Syria, we may well wonder whether Guibert and Ordericus have not blundered through a misunderstanding of the actual situation in the East and of the spirit in which Robert undertook the Crusade.

Finally, what is to be said of the statement of Cafaro of Genoa that, at the time of the capture of Antioch by the crusaders, Laodicea was under the rule of Eumathios Philocales, duke of Cyprus? It would not be surprising if Cafaro, writing long after the event, should be mistaken on a point of this kind; yet he is by no means to be ignored, and on the whole his account does not seem inconsistent with established facts. The sojourn of Robert Curthose at Laodicea was apparently a passing episode rather than a lasting occupation. But throughout the period under consideration the Syrian port was clearly in the hands of crusaders, mainly English mariners, who were acting in coöperation with the Greeks. Under existing treaty obligations the place might fairly be regarded as a Greek possession from the moment the Turks were expelled[40]—unless there were a Bohemond or some other like-minded chief to seize and hold it in defiance of imperial rights. And the Emperor would most naturally delegate authority over Laodicea to the head of his administration in Cyprus. From the Greek standpoint, therefore, it might well be regarded as subject to Eumathios Philocales, though actually held by the Emperor’s allies, the crusaders.

Between the departure of the crusaders from northern Syria early in 1099 and their return in September after the capture of Jerusalem, Laodicea seems to have become definitely a Greek possession; but whether there was any violent expulsion of the garrison of a crusading chief, as Ordericus and Guibert suppose, or any formal transfer,[41] must remain uncertain. When the crusaders moved southward from northern Syria to Jerusalem, their influence at Laodicea must, it seems, inevitably have declined, while that of the Greeks increased; and without any formal transfer it is conceivable that the place might gradually and almost imperceptibly have passed under full Greek control.

But for this later period there are some further scattered notices in the chronicles of Albert of Aix and of Raymond of Aguilers and in the anonymous Gesta Francorum, which must now be considered, and which make it clear that at this time Laodicea was still in Christian hands and served as a most important base for the further prosecution of the Crusade.

Albert of Aix, who is the fullest and most specific, explains that the crusaders still remaining in Syria gathered in council at Antioch on 2 February 1099, and, determining upon an advance to Jerusalem, fixed 1 March as the date for a general rendezvous of all the forces at Laodicea, a city which was then under Christian dominion.[42] Pursuant to this decision, Godfrey, Robert of Flanders, and Bohemond assembled their forces at Laodicea on the appointed day. And from Laodicea Godfrey and Robert moved on southward to the siege of Jebeleh; but Bohemond, ever suspicious and anxious lest through some fraud he should lose a city which was ‘impregnable by human strength,’ returned to Antioch.[43] This very specific account of Albert of Aix is confirmed by the much briefer statements of the Gesta Francorum, which record the meeting of the leaders at Laodicea, the advance of Godfrey and the count of Flanders to the siege of Jebeleh, and the return of Bohemond to Antioch.[44] It is also clear from Raymond of Aguilers that in the spring and summer of 1099—at least until June—the port of Laodicea was open to the ships of the Greeks, Venetians, and Genoese who were engaged in provisioning the crusaders at Arka and at Jerusalem.[45]

There can be little doubt, therefore, that until June 1099, Laodicea was held in the interest of the crusaders, and that its harbor was open to the ships of Greeks and Italians without distinction. Albert of Aix nowhere explains what he means when he says that Laodicea was “under Christian dominion”; but, in the absence of valid evidence of its retention by any of the crusading chiefs, or by the fleet of any Italian city, the most reasonable hypothesis appears to be that it was held by the Greeks in the interest of the common enterprise.

We get our next information concerning Laodicea when, in September 1099, Robert Curthose, Robert of Flanders, and Raymond of Toulouse, upon their return from Jerusalem, found the place undergoing a prolonged siege at the hands of Bohemond, who was assisted in his nefarious enterprise by a fleet of Pisans and Genoese.[46] Since the early summer, when ships of Genoese, Venetians, and Greeks had all enjoyed free entry to the port, a complete change had come over the situation at Laodicea.[47] What had happened to produce this? As is well known, it was the fixed policy of the Emperor to turn the Crusade to his own advantage, and to utilize the efforts of the Franks for the recovery of the lost provinces which had formerly belonged to the Greek Empire in Asia. To this end, he had been on the whole successful in coöperating with the crusaders. But in Bohemond of Taranto he had encountered opposition from the beginning; and, since the capture of Antioch by the crusaders, it had been the little disguised policy of this crafty and ambitious leader to hold it for himself, and to make it the capital and centre around which he hoped to build up a Norman state in Syria. It was, of course, inevitable that the Emperor should set himself to thwart such plans by every means at his disposal; and when the departure of the main body of the crusaders for Jerusalem left Bohemond with a free hand in the north, open hostilities became imminent. Undoubtedly foreseeing what was to come, Bohemond had separated from Godfrey and Robert of Flanders at Laodicea in March, and had returned to Antioch to mature his plans.[48] A few weeks later, ambassadors from the Emperor arrived in the crusaders’ camp at Arka and lodged a complaint against Bohemond.[49] But the Emperor was in no position to take vigorous measures at that time. Such a course might even have endangered his friendly relations with the other leaders. But neither was Bohemond in a position to resort to an overt act against Laodicea so long as he was powerless to meet the imperial fleet at sea. In the late summer of 1099, however, all this was changed by the arrival of a Pisan fleet under the command of Dagobert, archbishop of Pisa; for Bohemond, with true Norman adaptability and shrewdness, came to an understanding with the Pisans and secured their aid for an attack upon Laodicea.[50] And with this, the slight naval supremacy which the Greek Emperor had been vainly striving to maintain in the eastern Mediterranean came to an end.[51]

Such was the situation at Laodicea when in September 1099 Robert Curthose and the counts of Flanders and Toulouse arrived at Jebeleh on their way home from the Crusade. The siege had already been going on for some time and was making progress. The place seemed to be on the point of falling.[52] But never were the plans of Bohemond to end in more egregious failure. His unprovoked attack upon a friendly city which had rendered important services to the crusaders roused the indignation and jealousy of the returning leaders. The archbishop of Pisa suddenly discovered that he had been led into a false position by the crafty Norman, and, deserting Bohemond, he threw his powerful influence on the side of Raymond, Robert Curthose, and Robert of Flanders. The Greeks too, who, though hard pressed, were still holding out, well understood that Bohemond was their real enemy and that it behooved them to make terms quickly with the leaders who had kept faith with the Emperor. Accordingly, an agreement was promptly reached among the Pisans, the Laodiceans, and the returning leaders. An ultimatum was despatched to Bohemond demanding that he withdraw forthwith; and thus suddenly confronted with superior force, he had no choice but to yield. Wrathfully he retired under the cover of darkness; and next morning Robert Curthose and the counts of Flanders and Toulouse entered Laodicea with their forces, and were enthusiastically welcomed by the inhabitants.[53]

Count Raymond placed a strong garrison in the citadel, and raising his banner over the highest tower, took possession of the city[54]—in the Emperor’s name, it may be supposed, since by this time he clearly had an understanding with Alexius.[55] A few days later he met Bohemond outside the city and concluded peace.[56]

After a fortnight’s sojourn at Laodicea the two Roberts and a large number of humbler crusaders took ship and proceeded on their homeward way. But Raymond, still suspicious of the prince of Antioch, remained to keep a close guard upon Laodicea and Tortosa until the following summer, when he went to Constantinople and entered the Emperor’s service.[57]

APPENDIX F
THE BATTLE OF TINCHEBRAY[1]

The tactics of the battle of Tinchebray have been the subject of much discussion among recent writers, including the specialists in military history. There is general agreement as to the strategical stroke by which the victory was won, viz., a surprise attack upon the flank of the ducal forces by a band of mounted knights from Maine and Brittany. But as to the disposition of the troops in the two main armies, widely different views are held upon two points.

(1) Oman thinks that the battle formation on each side was an extended line made up of a right, centre, and left.[2] Ramsay, on the other hand, holds that the opposing forces were “marshalled in column, in successive divisions”;[3] and this view is accepted by Drummond,[4] by Delbrück,[5] and by Davis,[6] the two latter conjecturing a formation in échelon. Ramsay’s view is pretty clearly supported by the sources. Ordericus Vitalis (iv, p. 229) designates a first, second, and third acies, or division, on the side of the king, and a first and last (extrema) acies on the side of the duke; and, according to his account, only the first acies, i.e., the leading elements, of the two opposing forces engaged in the fighting. The contemporary letter of a priest of Fécamp, which is discussed below, is also specific with regard to the royal forces, describing a first and a second acies.[7]

(2) The larger question in debate between the specialists, however, turns upon the relative importance of cavalry and infantry in the battle of Tinchebray. Oman, relying upon a very specific passage in Henry of Huntingdon (p. 235), and placing a strained interpretation upon Ordericus Vitalis (iv, p. 229), holds that the battle was almost wholly an affair of infantry, and therefore almost without precedent in the tactics of the period.[8] For Ramsay, on the other hand, it was mainly an engagement of cavalry, the foot soldiers playing but a minor part.[9] Drummond has gone even further and taken great pains to demonstrate that it was a “ganze normale Schlacht des XII. Jahrhunderts,” i.e., a battle between mounted knights, the foot soldiery that happened to be present being held entirely in reserve;[10] and Drummond’s conclusions have been accepted without question by Delbrück.[11]

It is surprising that in none of the discussion above noted has any account been taken of the most important extant source for the tactics of Tinchebray, viz., a letter from a priest of Fécamp to a priest of Séez written a very few days after the engagement, and describing with exactness certain tactical features of the battle. If not actually by an eyewitness, the letter is still by one who was in touch with the king and who was well informed as to the disposition of the royal forces. It is, therefore, entitled to rank as an authority above any of the accounts in the chronicles. It was first discovered by Paul Meyer in an Oxford manuscript,[12] and published in 1872 by Léopold Delisle as a note in his great edition of the chronicle of Robert of Torigny (i, p. 129). But, strangely overlooked by all the military historians, it remained unused, and was rediscovered by H. W. C. Davis and published with extensive comment in 1909 in the English Historical Review (xxiv, pp. 728-732) as a “new source.” As afterwards turned out, Davis’s transcription of the letter had been exceedingly faulty—rendering, indeed, a part of the text which was fundamental for tactics quite unintelligible—and in a later number of the Review (xxv, p. 296) it was again published in a corrected text. By a comparison with the original edition of Delisle[13] it appears that, by an almost unbelievable coincidence, the same omission of an entire line of the manuscript was made there as in the edition of Davis. Yet all transcripts have been made from a single manuscript, viz., Jesus College, Oxford, no. 51, fol. 104. We have, then, at last, a correct edition of this important source in the English Historical Review, xxv, p. 296.[14]

Davis, in commenting on the tactics of the battle in the light of this letter, but from his own faulty transcript, maintains that neither of the extreme views is correct, and suggests “a third interpretation of the evidence, midway between the two existing theories.”[15] He holds that infantry played an important part in the action, but still assigns much prominence to the cavalry. Apropos of the corrected text of the priest’s letter, however, he remarks: “Taking the omitted words into consideration, it is clear that the foot soldiers played a larger part in the battle than I allowed in my article. The second of Henry’s divisions, like the first, was composite, containing both infantry and cavalry.”[16] This, indeed, is the correct view. Our conception of the battle of Tinchebray must be based upon the sources, and not upon a preconceived theory of the all-importance of the mounted knight in twelfth-century warfare. Drummond and Delbrück have quite unjustifiably ignored Henry of Huntingdon in favor of Ordericus Vitalis. Whatever the theorists may hold, foot soldiers did play an unusually large part in the battle of Tinchebray. In view of the explicit statement of Henry of Huntingdon (p. 235) and of the priest of Fécamp[17] it cannot be denied that, on the king’s side at least, some knights were dismounted and fought on foot, in order that they might stand more firmly (ut constantius pugnarent). On the other hand, Oman, while perfectly justified in pointing out the unusual prominence given to foot soldiers, certainly exaggerates in representing the battle as almost wholly an affair of infantry. The large part played by cavalry is clear both from the explicit statement of the priest of Fécamp and from the account of Ordericus Vitalis. The battle of Tinchebray may, therefore, still claim to stand as an important precedent in the development of mediaeval tactics because of the unusual combination of infantry and cavalry in the fighting line.

APPENDIX G
THE ROBERT MEDALLION IN SUGER’S STAINED GLASS WINDOW AT SAINT-DENIS

A recent writer has described Suger’s reconstruction of the abbey church of Saint-Denis as “le fait capital de l’histoire artistique du XIIᵉ siècle”;[1] and certainly among the most remarkable features of that great achievement were the stained glass windows, which were the abbot’s pride, and which he caused to be wrought “by the skilful hands of many masters from divers nations.”[2] The oldest painted windows of known date which survived from the Middle Ages,[3] most of them were destroyed during the French Revolution; and there would be no occasion to mention them in connection with the life of Robert Curthose, were it not that a series of ten medallions from one window, representing scenes from the First Crusade, has been preserved for us by the venerable Benedictine, Bernard de Montfaucon, in copperplate engravings of the early eighteenth century.[4] The eighth scene in the series has given rise to much discussion. It portrays a Christian knight in the act of unhorsing a pagan warrior with a mighty thrust of his lance, and bears the inscription: R DVX NORMANNORVM PARTVM PROSTERNIT.[5] Clearly we have here some spectacular victory of Robert Curthose over a Saracen; and it is the oldest graphic representation of the duke now extant. The only problem is to identify it either with a historic or with a legendary exploit of Robert on the Crusade. Ferdinand de Mély, assuming that it had nothing to do with veritable history, has supposed that it represented Robert’s legendary combat with the emir ‘Red Lion’ during the great battle of the Franks against Kerboga, as related in the Chanson d’Antioche;[6] and at Riant’s suggestion he has gone further and proposed that it may offer a terminus ad quem for determining the date of composition of that poem.[7] Gaston Paris has very properly rejected both these hypotheses. But he still holds that the Robert medallion can only be explained by reference to the Chanson d’Antioche, and he identifies the scene portrayed with Robert’s legendary victory over Kerboga himself rather than with that over Red Lion.[8] On the other hand, Hagenmeyer, who is better qualified to speak upon such matters, sees not legend at all but sober history in the scene in question. Indeed, upon comparison of the whole series of Montfaucon’s engravings with the original narratives of the First Crusade, he finds all the scenes portrayed to be in remarkably close agreement with historic facts. “L’artiste qui a fait ces peintures,” he says, “a été, sans aucun doute, très au courant des événements marquants de la première croisade… A proprement parler, aucune de ces peintures ne contient d’épisode légendaire.” And the scene in the Robert medallion he considers to be no more than a pictorial rendering of a text from the Gesta Francorum describing the battle of Ascalon: “Comes autem de Nortmannia cernens ammiravisi stantarum … ruit vehementer super illum, eumque vulneravit usque ad mortem.”[9]

Although Mély in quoting Hagenmeyer’s opinion does not accept it,[10] there can be little doubt of its correctness. The scenes from the Crusade in Suger’s window do not, it is true, agree in every minute detail with the primary literary sources, but the deviations are certainly not greater than should be expected from a mediaeval painter striving to produce an artistic result within the limitations of his craft. The arrangement and numbering of Montfaucon’s engravings leave some doubt as to the original sequence of the medallions, but so far as it is possible to determine, the outstanding events of the Crusade from the siege of Nicaea to the battle of Ascalon appear to have been portrayed in chronological order. About the first six scenes, as arranged by Montfaucon, there can be practically no doubt. And the great battle against Kerboga is set in its proper place between the capture of Antioch and the storming of Jerusalem; and there is no indication that Robert played a special part in it, any more than there is in the strictly historical literary sources.

The last four medallions as given by Montfaucon present peculiar difficulties; and it will be well to describe them briefly, preserving his numbering.

No. 7. The flight of defeated horsemen through a gate into a walled city. Inscription: ARABES VICTI IN ASCALON FVGIVNT.

No. 8. The Robert medallion which has been described above.

No. 9. A single combat between a Christian and a pagan horseman, each supported by a band of warriors who fill the background. Inscription: DVELLVM PARTI EX ROTBERTI FLANDRENSIS COMITIS.

No. 10. A general combat between Christian and pagan warriors fighting on horseback. Inscription: BELLVM AMITE ASCALONIA IV; and an unfilled space at the end seems to indicate that it is incomplete. Evidently this inscription has become corrupt in transmission, and as it stands it is not wholly intelligible. It seems clear enough, however, that we have here a representation of the great battle of the Franks against the Egyptian emir Malik el-Afdhal near Ascalon.

Now if the four medallions in question be taken in the order in which they have just been described, it is difficult, if not impossible, to reconcile them with the literary sources as a representation of actual events in chronological order. But it is very doubtful whether Montfaucon has placed them in their proper sequence. We have no way of checking him as to the arrangement of nos. 8 and 9; but a glance at his engravings reveals the fact that nos. 7 and 10 are not perfectly circular like the rest, but are considerably cut away, the former in the upper right hand sector and the latter in the upper left hand sector.[11] Clearly they were placed side by side at the top of the window in the restricted space beneath the pointed arch, no. 10 being on the left and no. 7 on the right. Now the general sequence of the medallions in the window appears to have been from the bottom to the top; and in that case nos. 10 and 7 must have been the last two of the series. If this arrangement be accepted the interpretation of the last four medallions does not seem to offer greater difficulties than that of the first six. All four have to do with events centring around Ascalon and the great contest of the Franks with the Egyptian emir. Nos. 8 and 9 portray the individual feats of arms of Robert Curthose and Robert of Flanders as set forth in the literary sources.[12] No. 10 (with the corrupt inscription) probably represents the general engagement in which the exploits of the two Roberts were such notable features. And no. 7, properly belonging at the end, represents the flight of the vanquished pagans through the gate within the protecting walls of Ascalon. It is true that our best literary sources in describing the pursuit which followed the battle make no mention of this particular feature. But we know that the inhabitants of Ascalon closed their gates and successfully bid defiance to the crusaders;[13] and it certainly does not seem improbable that some of the fugitive Saracens should have escaped thither. At any rate, the artist might very well have assumed that they so escaped.