In the Western European Christian tradition, a Crusade was a kind of holy war sanctioned by the Catholic Church, in which Western Europeans could gain salvation by fighting on behalf of God and the Church to protect the Christian holy sites in Jerusalem. This article will discuss the Seventh Crusade, which was fought between the years 1248 and 1254.

King Louis IX of France’s Crusader Heritage

King Louis IX ruled France between the years 1226 and 1270. He was only twelve years old when his father, King Louis VIII, died while on the Albigensian Crusade. King Louis IX has gone down in history as a devoutly pious king, with a passion for justice and peacemaking. However, one of the great goals of his reign was to be a successful Crusader king.

Louis was not the first of the Capetian Kings of France to go on Crusade. His great-grandfather, King Louis VII, had led a French Army on the Second Crusade in the years 1146-1148. This Crusade had been a disaster, but it began the tradition of French monarchs leading Crusading expeditions.

Phillip Augustus, the son of King Louis VII and the grandfather of King Louis IX, had led another army to the Holy Land as part of the Third Crusade in the years 1189-1190. Later in 1226, King Louis VIII, the father of Louis IX, led an expedition into Languedoc in what is now Southern France as part of the Albigensian Crusade.

Louis IX Vows to Go On Crusade

In December 1244, King Louis IX of France was seriously ill, and the court feared for his life. One day, while he was in a coma, and two maidservants were arguing over whether he was dead, the king woke up and asked for the cross.

In asking for a cross, he was making a vow to go on Crusade, and in making this vow, he was acting in opposition to many in his kingdom who increasingly questioned the practicality of a king abandoning his kingdom to go on Crusade, as well as its value in obtaining salvation.

The king’s mother, Queen Blanche of Castile, opposed her son’s Crusade and tried to persuade him to give up his vow, but he was adamant about his decision. Crusading continued to hold value and resonance for people, including the king, despite the doubts of many.

Considering the great influence that Queen Blanche had exerted over the king in the years since he had ascended the throne at the young age of twelve, there may well have been an aspect of rebellion and personal emancipation to the king’s determination to go on Crusade.

As it happened, this vow was made at the perfect moment, for earlier that fall, Khwarezmian Turks had conquered the city of Jerusalem. They then destroyed the Crusader army and their local Muslim allies at the Battle of La Forbie.

The news of this defeat had not yet reached France when Louis made his vow, although these events would have made his departure on the Crusade the more pressing.

Preparing for the Crusade

King Louis IX spent over three years preparing for his expedition. In 1245, he met with Pope Innocent IV, who sent a legate to preach the Crusade in France, and the pope also granted the king a tenth of the revenues of all the bishoprics, churches, and monasteries in France, for the Crusade. The king also levied tailles, or arbitrary payments, from the cities of France.

The revenues of the church and the towns of France sufficed to cover most of the cost of the Crusade. He used this money to recruit an army of around 15,000-25,000 troops.

Aside from nobles from the royal demesne who would have had the king as their direct lord, the king was also able to convince his brothers, Robert Count of Artois, Alphonse, Count of Poitiers, and Charles of Anjou to come with contingents of soldiers from their appanages, and he was able to recruit troops from the Counties of Champagne and Flanders because their Counts were sympathetic to Louis IX.

Furthermore, William Longuespee, Earl of Salisbury, a great English nobleman, brought a small force of English knights to join the expedition, and once the king arrived in Cyprus, many knights from there, and the other Crusader principalities in the Holy Land and Greece, as well as a force of Knights Templars, joined him.

To take his army to the Holy Land, Pisa and Genoa provided ships in return for promises of commercial favors in the Holy Land.

The Capture of Damietta

King Louis IX finally set out for his expedition in the summer of 1248. On August 25, the king and his fleet embarked for the Island of Cyprus. Cyprus by this time was a Crusader kingdom ruled by a dynasty of Kings of French origin called the Lusignans.

Because it was September when King Louis IX arrived in Cyprus, it was too late in the year for the invasion to begin. So, he and his army spent the winter of 1248-1249 in Cyprus planning their campaign and preparing to attack.

Rather than land in Palestine directly, Louis IX and the other French barons were convinced by the Crusader Barons to attack Egypt.

Egypt was a wealthy and populous country that threatened Palestine from the south, and as long as it was held by the Muslims, the Crusaders could never hope to hold the Holy Land for long. The Crusaders had learned this from hard experience. Because of the failure of the King of Jerusalem, Amaury, to conquer Egypt for the Crusaders in the 12th century, Nur al-Din and his nephew, Saladin, had conquered it.

Realizing the importance of Egypt, the Fifth Crusade in 1217-1221 had tried to conquer Egypt but had done no more than capture Damietta after a year-long siege, before their army was bogged down and destroyed in the Nile delta.

Now, with Louis IX and his forces massing in Cyprus, it seemed like an excellent opportunity to renew the old plan to conquer Egypt to regain and secure their hold on Palestine.

By May of 1250, a fleet of 1,800 ships had been gathered at the Port of Limassol on Cyprus to take the Crusader army to Egypt. Unfortunately, a storm soon scattered much of the fleet, and so when in early June of 1249 Saint Louis and his flagship the Montjoie arrived off the Egyptian port city of Damietta, he had no more than one-third of his army with him.

The troops of the Egyptian Sultan Ayub, meanwhile, waited on the shore to repel the Crusaders. As the French troops began disembarking from their ships to attack, King Louis himself, against advice, jumped into the sea armed with his shield and his lance and rushed to the shore with his first wave of knights. They were soon able to clear the shore and secure a beachhead.

The Sultan’s troops became discouraged, so they retreated and left Damietta to be occupied by King Louis and the Crusaders.

Meanwhile, the French army could not yet move inland to attack Cairo because the floods were starting and would bog down any advance until October or November. So, the French army stayed outside Damietta, biding its time. In October of 1249, however, reinforcements led by Alphonse, Count of Poitou, arrived, and the floods began to recede, so Louis met with his council to plan the next stage of the campaign.

A Pyrrhic Victory at Al Mansourah

At the end of October 1249, the French army moved out. They planned to march down the Nile valley and capture Cairo, thereby conquering and securing Egypt for the Crusaders.

They marched south through the Nile Valley, crossing the many streams and canals in their path, and engaging in occasional skirmishes with the Egyptian army. Finally, they arrived at a tributary of the Nile called the Bahr Es Seghir, where they faced the Egyptian army encamped across the river, and shortly beyond the Egyptian camp lay the city of Al Mansourah, whose capture was the next goal of the Crusade.

The Crusaders spent the next month and a half or so unsuccessfully trying to cross the Bahr es Seghir in the face of Egyptian resistance. However, in early February, the Crusaders were able to bribe a local to show them a ford downstream, which they could cross.

The vanguard was under orders not to engage in battle without the permission of King Louis. However, once they had crossed the river, they found that they had taken the Egyptian encampment off guard. Despite the caution of the Master of the Templars, they attacked.

The Egyptian camp was soon overrun, many Egyptians were killed before they could get their weapons, and the Vizier, Fakhr Ad Din, was killed after rushing to arms from his bath. Refugees from the camp soon fled to the town of Al Mansourah.

Against the advice of the Templars, Count Robert of Artois led the Vanguard in pursuit and soon rode into the town. They were then ambushed and almost completely wiped out by the Egyptian troops garrisoned in the town, led by their general, Baibars Al Bundukdari.

In all, over 500 Knights were killed, a serious loss of leadership and elite troops in an army that contained only about 2,500-2,600 knights. The Count of Brittany was among those few who managed to escape, and he was able to warn Louis as he crossed the ford with the bulk of the Crusader army.

King Louis now formed the main body of his army to face an Egyptian counterattack. The force of this counterattack soon pushed Louis and the Crusaders back, but the king was soon able to rally his troops and regain his lost ground. The battle remained undecided until evening, when a pontoon bridge over the Bahr Es Seghir was completed, and crossbowmen were rushed across the river, at which point the Egyptians finally retreated into Al Mansourah, and King Louis and his army kept the field.

Unfortunately, Louis had lost more troops than he could afford, and so he was unable to attack the town of Al Mansourah. Louis had word that the Sultan of Egypt, Ayub, had died, and there was strife between his son and heir, Turanshah, and the Mamluk slave commanders raised by his father. So Louis and his army remained, hoping that soon there would be a palace revolution that would throw Egypt into chaos and give him the advantage again.

Meanwhile, a few days after the Battle of Al Mansourah, the Egyptian army attacked again, and after another long and hard-fought battle, they were repulsed.

The Disastrous Retreat

By now, the new Egyptian Sultan Turanshah had arrived, and so a new effort was made to force the Crusaders to retreat by having boats brought by camel and launched in the Nile River above the Crusaders’ camp. This was done to cut the Crusaders’ supply link with Damietta.

The Egyptians captured many boats bringing supplies to the Crusader camp, so the Crusader army was soon short of food, and disease began to ravage them. With the army severely weakened, the Egyptians becoming stronger, and with no evident opportunities coming from discord within the Egyptian ranks, King Louis IX and his barons decided it was time to retreat.

Most of the army marched along the banks of the Nile, while the sick and wounded Crusaders were loaded onto boats. The Crusaders started up the Nile, hoping to return to Damietta and regroup.

The Christians had neglected to destroy the bridge that they had thrown across the Bahr Es Seghir, and so the Egyptian army soon followed and began attacking the retreating Crusaders. The king had to flee to a nearby village, where he took shelter in a house, with only a few knights to guard him, and chased off Egyptian soldiers.

The Duke of Brittany was sent to negotiate terms with the Egyptians to allow the army to escape. Meanwhile, however, a soldier named Marcel, who had probably been bribed by the Egyptians, spread word that the king had surrendered, and they all had to drop their arms, thus ending the negotiations.

The ships carrying the sick and wounded were soon captured, and the sick and wounded prisoners were unloaded and beheaded by the hundreds.

Many of the prisoners on land were offered conversion or death, and many refused to be converted and so were put to death with the sword. The Egyptians, however, on further reflection, decided that they ought to spare the rest of the prisoners and use them as a bargaining chip to get concessions.

Meanwhile, Louis IX himself was soon captured. Louis was very sick, but Muslim doctors were sent in to care for him, and he soon began to mend.

The Egyptian sultan demanded that all the Crusader holdings in the Levant be turned over to him. Louis IX, however, said that he did not have the authority to do so, because Emperor Frederick II held the title King of Jerusalem. However, they soon made a deal that Damietta would be given back in exchange for King Louis, and 800,000 bezants, or 400,000 livres of Paris, would be paid for the surviving prisoners and captured supplies.

After a deal had been concluded, the Sultan Turanshah was finally overthrown and murdered by the Mamluk officers who made one of their number, Aibek, the new sultan.

The new ruler of Egypt decided to keep the deal that his predecessor had reached with Louis IX and the other crusaders, and in May, the down payment of 200,000 livres of Paris was paid to the Egyptians. Damietta was also handed over, and Louis IX and his brothers were freed. They then sailed to the city of Acre.

The Decision to Stay

Louis IX had to now decide if he would return home to France or stay a little longer and see if he could repair some of the damage that his failure had caused.

The loss of so many knights from the Crusader principalities had weakened them and left them vulnerable to attack. As a result, the Barons of the Crusader states implored the king to remain for a time. However, the kingdom of France itself was in peril, because given that King Henry III of England might attack.

As a result, most of the French barons advised the king to return to France. However, King Louis decided he would remain in the Holy Land for a time because his kingdom would be fine with his mother and regent Blanche of Castille still there, while if he left the Holy Land, then the Crusader principalities would certainly fall.

Most of the French barons, including the king’s two brothers, Alphonse of Poitiers and Charles of Anjou, went home to assist the queen mother and regent Blanche of Castille and to send money and reinforcements. Louis and a small force remained behind.

Getting the Captured Crusaders Freed

Because of the palace revolution in Egypt, in which the Mamluk commanders had overthrown and murdered their sultan, the Egyptian Mamluks and the Ayyubid rulers of Damascus were now in a state of war. The cousins of the Ayyubid rulers of Damascus had been the Ayyubid rulers of Egypt, who had now been overthrown and killed by the Mamluks.

This state of things allowed King Louis IX to gain concessions by playing the Egyptian Mamluks and the Ayyubid rulers of Damascus against each other. An initial offer by the rulers of Damascus of an alliance between them and the Crusaders had to be rejected by Louis IX because his men were still prisoners in Egypt. However, because of this offer, King Louis was able to pressure the Egyptian Mamluks to free many prisoners, and they soon were able to make an agreement in which the rest of the Crusader prisoners were freed, and the rest of the ransom was cancelled.

In return, Louis would lead his forces to support the Mamluk attack on the Sultanate of Damascus, and after Damascus was defeated, the Christians would get Jerusalem and other lands in Palestine. Their forces ended up unable to combine for their attack, and the Mamluks and Ayyubids made peace, thus nullifying the alliance with the Crusaders.

Meanwhile, King Louis IX began an extensive project of repairing the walls of the coastal Crusader cities. He spent the first year, 1250-1251, repairing the walls of the city of Acre, which at this time was the capital and chief port city of the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem. He also went on to repair the fortifications of the cities of Caesarea, Jaffa, and Sidon.

At Sidon, the workmen on the fortifications were surprised and massacred by the Damascene army before they could finish repairing the walls. King Louis subsequently came to the city and personally helped bury the bodies of the slain Christian workmen, after which he built a new series of fortifications around the city.

The Return Home

Meanwhile, in the summer of 1252, Blanche of Castille, the mother of King Louis IX, who had been left as regent, died, leaving a leadership vacuum. King Louis IX heard of her death the following year. After her death, King Louis knew he needed to return to France as soon as possible.

The barons and churchmen of the Kingdom of Jerusalem agreed that the king could now go home, as he had done everything he could to strengthen the kingdom after the failed Egyptian expedition, and now he could do more good back home.

In July 1254, King Louis IX and his family and entourage landed at the port of Hyeres, after six years of absence and four months at sea.

In his short 24-year life, Baldwin IV celebrated many victories against his long-standing rival, Saladin. But his victory at the Battle of Montgisard is undoubtedly his most famous victory. Still recalled by witnesses 80 years later, Baldwin faced impossible odds. Yet his courage and fortitude ensured the 16-year-old Leper King delivered a crushing blow to his opponent.

Baldwin IV, The Leper King

King Baldwin IV came to the throne in 1174, a mere 13-year-old boy following the death of his father, King Amalric. Like the other Crusader States, the Kingdom of Jerusalem was a frontier kingdom, surrounded by hostile Muslim enemies. Warfare and conflict were a fundamental part of life, and kings were required to lead their troops into battle regularly.

King Amalric had offered the kingdom strong leadership and had been, in many ways, an ideal king. The accession of a boy untested in warfare was a huge blow to the kingdom. But youth was not the only hindrance to Baldwin’s reign. Shortly after his coronation, Baldwin was diagnosed with leprosy, his illness discovered by his tutor and friend, the chronicler William, Archbishop of Tyre.

Saladin, Sultan of Egypt and Syria

The start of Baldwin’s reign coincided with the rise of the greatest threat to the Crusader States: Saladin. Saladin was the ambitious sultan of both Egypt and Syria and sought to unite the fractured Muslim kingdoms under one ruler before striking a decisive blow against the Christians residing in Syria. Ultimately, recapturing Jerusalem was his goal.

Saladin was ruthless and had secured a series of victories in Syria, defeating his Muslim opponents. Seizing Damascus, his growing influence in the region was a cause for concern for Baldwin. His victories in Hama and Homs, followed by gains in northern Syria, emboldened him further. In 1177, Saladin ended his campaigns in Syria and returned to Egypt to plan his next invasion. This time, his target would not be Muslim rulers who opposed him; he now turned his attention to the Crusader States.

The Arrival of Count Philip of Flanders

Count Philip of Flanders arrived in Jerusalem in August 1177 with a significant retinue. His arrival was met with enthusiasm, as it was hoped he would join Baldwin’s ambitious plan to launch an invasion of Egypt. With Byzantine support already secured, the proposed expedition would have seen substantial forces enter Egypt. If victorious, the invasion would have struck a crippling blow to Saladin’s base of power. However, the lack of enthusiasm from Philip of Flanders and other nobles in the Crusader States meant Baldwin’s ambitious plan came to nothing.

Philip decided to focus his energies elsewhere and joined Raymond III of Tripoli in attacking Harim, a Muslim-held stronghold in northern Syria. To strengthen this expedition, Baldwin sent 100 of his best knights from Jerusalem to join Philip. A substantial crusader army, perhaps numbering as many as 2,000 infantry, also departed, along with many Knights Templar and Knights Hospitaller. Philip’s departure in September 1177 left Jerusalem weak, vulnerable, and ripe for attack.

Jerusalem Left Vulnerable

Saladin became aware of the vulnerability of the Kingdom of Jerusalem and took advantage of this fortuitous circumstance. He assembled a large force and made his way from Egypt, heading north towards Gaza in November 1177, intending to invade the southern part of the kingdom.

Saladin’s motives are unclear; he may have wished to distract the forces attacking Harim, or he may have sought to deal a critical blow to Baldwin and Jerusalem directly. Whatever his intentions, Saladin, spurred on by his knowledge of Baldwin’s vulnerability, was rash and overconfident. He made the decision to leave his heavy baggage at al-Arish, taking only his lightly armed troops, and then marched towards Ascalon, a Christian stronghold.

Baldwin Responds to Saladin’s Threat

Baldwin was recovering from an illness brought on by leprosy when he learned of Saladin’s invasion. All that could be found within the entire kingdom were 600 knights, not nearly enough to face the might of Saladin. The situation seemed dire. Nevertheless, Baldwin mustered the few troops he had and marched to Ascalon to confront his rival.

At Ascalon, Baldwin issued an arrière-ban, a royal proclamation calling all able-bodied men to arms. Such proclamations were rare and used only in the most extreme circumstances. Baldwin waited within the city walls, anticipating Saladin’s arrival.

The sultan reached Ascalon on November 22, 1177, emboldened by his superior numbers. Baldwin led a force outside the city to assess his opposition. Saladin’s forces dwarfed his own, and after a short engagement, Baldwin retreated into the fortress of Ascalon. The king could only watch as reinforcements arrived to swell Saladin’s already large army.

Reinforcements also arrived for Baldwin in response to his arrière-ban. However, as they attempted to reach Ascalon, Saladin’s men seized many of them, strapped them to camels, and sold them into slavery. Baldwin could only watch in despair. The situation seemed hopeless, and the outcome appeared to be a foregone conclusion.

The Road to Montgisard

Saladin then did something unexpected: he divided his army. Feeling no threat from Baldwin, he separated his troops into detachments to pillage the surrounding areas. Saladin himself led a detachment north. He arrived at Ramla, and the Christian inhabitants fled to Jaffa. His men burned villages in their wake. They then moved on to Lydda, causing destruction and mayhem as they advanced.

Baldwin learned of the destruction and suffering of his people, and a sense of honor prevented him from remaining within the walls of Ascalon. His duty, his lineage, and his office compelled him to act.

Foolishly, Saladin did not expect Baldwin to leave the confines of the fortress and failed to leave a detachment to monitor the city and the king’s movements. This oversight allowed Baldwin to coordinate with a group of Templars stationed at Gaza and plan an attack.

Saladin, emboldened by his victories and superior numbers, reached the hill of Montgisard on November 25, 1177. The sultan had dispersed his men to raid the nearby countryside. He and his troops were preparing to cross a stream when he was caught off guard.

Baldwin and his host appeared before Saladin, severely outnumbered but filled with courage and emboldened by faith. Albert, Bishop of Bethlehem, carried the True Cross before the army. This relic had previously secured victory for the Crusaders and the Kings of Jerusalem; it was now needed more than ever.

Baldwin took a moment for prayer and reflection before rousing his troops for the forthcoming battle. Weakened by illness caused by leprosy, the 16-year-old Leper King who defied a death sentence, stood before his men. Despite his youth, his relative inexperience in warfare, and his disfiguring condition, his troops trusted him implicitly.

The Battle at Montgisard

Baldwin was the overall commander at Montgisard, but he benefited from the military experience of others, in particular Reynald of Châtillon, a seasoned warrior recently released from Muslim captivity after 15 years. If Baldwin’s courage faltered, Reynald’s desire for vengeance would have spurred him forward. But Baldwin’s courage did not fail; his desire to protect his people, his kingdom, and his crown was paramount.

Saladin sent out messengers ordering his scattered troops to return. Trumpets sounded, and drums rolled, calling his men to arms. As Saladin’s troops regrouped, Baldwin formed his battle lines and prepared to attack. The cavalry was placed at the front, with the infantry forming a line behind them.

Saladin’s troops were still in disarray when Baldwin launched his surprise attack in the afternoon. William of Tyre wrote that at first the battle was indecisive, but Saladin’s lines were soon broken by Baldwin’s forces, emboldened by faith.

Saladin’s great-nephew was killed in the battle. One of the Franks nearly reached Saladin himself but was slain before he could land a blow on the sultan. The region was then plagued by relentless winter rains for the next ten days, making it impossible for Saladin to regroup his forces.

A Victory for Baldwin

After Baldwin’s troops slaughtered many of Saladin’s forces, the Muslims retreated twelve miles to a swamp when night fell. They were relentlessly pursued by the Christians. Many fell to the sword; others were captured and sold into slavery.

The only men in Saladin’s army who did not flee were his Mamluk guard. Dressed in yellow, this 1,000-strong force acted as Saladin’s personal bodyguard. They clashed fiercely with the Frankish troops as Saladin dismounted his horse and mounted a racing camel. The Mamluks did not cease their desperate fighting until their sultan had escaped.

Saladin was stunned by this surprise Frankish attack and the swiftness of Baldwin’s victory. The 16-year-old king had achieved his first significant triumph. His reputation as a heroic warrior, in the manner of his forefathers, was born at Montgisard. This was no standard battlefield victory. Baldwin had defeated the mighty Saladin against formidable odds. His triumph was seen as an affirmation of divine approval for his kingship and for his kingdom.

William of Tyre estimates Baldwin’s forces at 375 knights against Saladin’s combined force of 26,000 light cavalry. This figure must be treated cautiously, as it likely emphasizes the odds Baldwin faced, especially when other contemporary sources claim Baldwin lost over 1,000 men. Nevertheless, Baldwin was severely outnumbered, perhaps by as much as three-to-one. He may have commanded around 3,000 infantry and 580 cavalry against Saladin’s 6,000 light cavalry and 2,660 heavy cavalry.

The Aftermath of Montgisard

The Hospitallers cared for the wounded, who numbered around 750. These were carried back to Jerusalem, while Baldwin returned to Ascalon to await those troops who had pursued Saladin’s men far from their original objective. Baldwin distributed the collected booty and celebrated his great victory.

The Battle at Montgisard was memorialized by its victor in the construction of a Benedictine monastery on the site of the battle, dedicated to St Catherine of Alexandria.

Baldwin knew that this victory was not decisive and that Saladin would return with renewed determination. In preparation, he ordered the construction of a new castle of Chastelet at Jacob’s Ford in 1178.

Fresh attacks from Saladin were launched throughout the Leper King’s reign, but the Battle of Montgisard held a special place in Frankish memory. Eighty years later, during the Seventh Crusade, there were still those who recalled Baldwin’s victory at Montgisard, the Leper King who defeated the mighty Saladin against seemingly impossible odds.

According to Arabic sources, Saladin sent a letter of condolence to Baldwin IV after the death of his father, King Amalric, in 1174. The letter appears to have been an attempt to establish peaceful relations with his new Frankish rival. Its tone was friendly, expressing hope that Baldwin might regard him as a friend, as Amalric had done.

This cordial exchange contrasts sharply with the fierce rivalry that later defined Saladin vs Baldwin IV and reveals the diplomatic courtesy between Christian and Muslim rulers alongside their ongoing conflict.

The Rise of Saladin

Saladin was born into a prominent Kurdish family around 1138. His birth name was Yusuf (Joseph), a figure who features prominently in both the Bible and the Qur’an as the son of Jacob, sent by God to save Egypt. The connection to Joseph was no doubt emphasized by Saladin’s supporters once he found himself in Egypt as the nephew of Shirkuh, a mercenary in the service of Nur al-Din.

Saladin was appointed vizier of Egypt in 1169 and immediately began consolidating his position. This task was made much easier following the death of his lord, Nur al-Din, in 1171. Saladin had ambitions in Syria and entered Damascus in 1174, taking the city from his Muslim foes. He defeated his rivals at the Battle of the Horns of Hama in 1175 and was proclaimed the first sultan of both Egypt and Syria.

These acquisitions were merely stepping stones, bringing Saladin closer to his ultimate goal. His grand ambition was to unite the Muslims in Syria under his rule and deliver a fatal blow to the Crusader States. It was this ambition that would bring Saladin and Baldwin IV into direct and dramatic confrontation.

The Accession of Baldwin IV

Baldwin IV descended from the Frankish knights of the First Crusade who seized Jerusalem in 1099 and established the Crusader States. He assumed the kingship of Jerusalem in 1174 following the death of his father, King Amalric. Amalric was a celebrated military commander who, like Saladin, had ambitions in Egypt.

Baldwin’s accession coincided with the rise of Saladin, and a strong leader and competent commander was required to meet this dangerous threat.

Unfortunately, Baldwin was a mere boy, just 13 years of age, when he became king. Moreover, shortly after his coronation, it was discovered that he was suffering from leprosy. Impeded by both his youth and his illness, a succession of regents ruled in Baldwin’s stead. Nevertheless, once he came of age in 1176 at the age of 15, Baldwin took full control of his government and relinquished authority only when his illness became too severe.

Saladin undoubtedly rejoiced at the prospect of facing a minor and ailing king. However, Baldwin would prove to be a surprisingly formidable opponent. The stage was set for Saladin vs Baldwin IV, a contest that would test both rulers repeatedly over the next decade.

The Battle of Montgisard

Aside from a few skirmishes, Baldwin was first truly tested against Saladin in 1177 at the Battle of Montgisard. Taking advantage of Jerusalem’s vulnerability after its troops had been sent north by Baldwin to support the forces of Philip of Flanders, Saladin launched an invasion of the kingdom. Knowing that Jerusalem was largely undefended, Saladin marched towards Ascalon, where Baldwin intercepted him with a small force.

The 16-year-old Baldwin was about to face his toughest challenge to date. Severely outnumbered, Baldwin decided not to engage immediately and remained within the walls of Ascalon. An emboldened Saladin failed to take proper precautions, believing Baldwin would not dare leave the fortress, and divided his troops into raiding parties. These detachments devastated the surrounding countryside.

A furious Baldwin met Saladin at Montgisard and, despite being heavily outnumbered by as much as three to one, ordered his army to charge. The result was catastrophic for Saladin. The sultan narrowly avoided being killed and escaped on a camel, forced to watch as his men were slaughtered.

In this first significant engagement, Saladin learned much about his opponent. Despite his crippling illness, Baldwin was courageous, resolute, and a worthy descendant of his heroic forefathers.

The Aftermath of Montgisard

Following Baldwin’s victory at Montgisard, the relationship between the two rulers was dominated by conflict. In April 1179, Baldwin’s constable, Humphrey of Toron, was killed by Saladin’s forces while Baldwin was leading a raid into Banyas. Then, in June 1179, Baldwin suffered a crushing defeat at Marj Ayun as he attempted to halt Saladin’s attacks on Christian territory east of Sidon.

These were minor engagements in the broader struggle, and the shifting fortunes of battle had little lasting impact on the region’s geography. They were, however, opportunities for each leader to test his opponent on the battlefield and inflict significant damage upon his enemy’s retinue.

The Construction of Chastelet Castle

Baldwin intended to fortify his borders lest Saladin launch another attack. He ordered the construction of a castle called Chastelet overlooking Jacob’s Ford, which lay on the border between Christian and Muslim territories. Jacob’s Ford was strategically significant and used by both Christians and Muslims, as it sat on the main road between Acre and Damascus.

Saladin considered the castle an infringement upon Muslim territory and ultimately disrespectful. This was not how one ruler ought to treat another. Saladin wanted to avoid a confrontation and attempted diplomacy, treating Baldwin courteously as a fellow ruler. Saladin initially offered Baldwin 60,000 dinars, later increasing the offer to 100,000 dinars to demolish the castle. Baldwin refused. Saladin responded by raiding the surrounding area, and in August 1179, he launched an assault on the castle itself. After five days, Saladin breached the defenses and tore them down. More than 700 soldiers and laborers were taken prisoner, and many more were killed during the Siege of Jacob’s Ford.

Baldwin was in Tiberias at the time of the attack. By the time he reached the castle with reinforcements, he was too late. His ambitious project lay in smoldering ruins.

A Truce is Made

Persistent warfare was costly and time-consuming for both sides. It was often deemed preferable to live in harmony alongside one’s enemies than to live in perpetual warfare. As much as Baldwin and Saladin fought, they also both understood the value of peace. In 1180, a two-year truce was agreed between the two rulers. For Saladin, the truce enabled him to devote his attention to campaigns in northern Syria. Baldwin, however, needed the treaty more urgently. His health had begun to deteriorate significantly, and he needed to address the pressing matter of succession.

Baldwin married his sister, Sibylla, to a Poitevin knight, Guy of Lusignan, hoping that he would serve as Baldwin’s successor and military commander when the king became too ill to exercise his powers.

Baldwin’s decision to marry his sister to Guy was unpopular in certain circles at court and caused division within the kingdom. A significant party of nobles refused to follow Guy. Ultimately, Baldwin proved unable to relinquish effective control to Guy. As a result, the Leper King continued to rule despite his increasingly severe physical limitations.

The Truce is Broken

The treaty between Baldwin and Saladin was broken in less than two years. Although the two rulers demonstrated a mutual respect to such an extent that peace between the pair was relatively easy to establish, others did not. In November 1181 Reynald of Châtillon attacked a Muslim caravan traveling between Egypt and Syria that passed near his lands. Reynald seized their goods and imprisoned the travelers. A furious Baldwin, attempting to restore the terms of the truce, ordered his vassal to return the stolen booty and release the prisoners. Reynald refused.

Saladin himself, however, had little appetite for lasting peace with the Christians and did not intend to honor the treaty fully. In the spring of 1182, a Christian ship ran aground in Egypt, whereupon Saladin imprisoned its 1,600 passengers and seized their goods. Baldwin attempted to secure their release but to no avail, as Saladin wished to resume hostilities with his Frankish neighbors.

The Battle of Le Forbelet

By 1182, Baldwin’s suffering had greatly increased. He was now blind, and his hands and feet had begun to deteriorate. Ulcers covered his body, and the dressing of these wounds often aggravated infection and pain. Riding had become nearly impossible, and for this reason, the king was frequently carried in a litter. Nevertheless, he did not relent. Whatever his condition, Baldwin continued to appear at the head of his army, leading from the front.

In July 1182, Saladin felt confident enough to attack the Kingdom of Jerusalem directly. He gathered an immense force and marched into the kingdom. His troops laid siege to the castle of Bethsan in Galilee. Baldwin marched to relieve the siege with his own host but found himself severely outnumbered.

In the blistering summer heat, the two forces clashed at Le Forbelet on July 15, 1182. Baldwin’s men stood firm, determined to follow their leper king wherever he led them.

On that day, more men died from sunstroke and heat exhaustion than by the sword. The battle was sweltering and brutal, but ultimately Baldwin emerged victorious.

Once again, the Leper King demonstrated to Saladin that superior numbers did not necessarily guarantee victory. As at Montgisard, Baldwin’s abilities as a military leader matched the strength of Saladin’s host.

Baldwin Succumbs to Leprosy

By this stage, Saladin’s rivalry with Baldwin IV had become more than a military contest; it was a test of endurance and leadership. Baldwin’s final years were marked by excruciating pain. His inability to devolve power to his brother-in-law, Guy of Lusignan, meant that Baldwin continued to shoulder these burdens himself.

In late November 1183, Saladin besieged the fortress of Kerak. The bombardment was intense and required a personal response from the ailing king. Carried in a litter drawn by two horses, Baldwin made his way towards Kerak.

Saladin had drawn many of his forces from Egypt and feared for the security of his realm. He therefore abandoned the siege of Kerak on December 4, avoiding an open pitched battle with Baldwin, and returned to Egypt. Baldwin entered Kerak in triumph in what would be his last major success against Saladin.

Baldwin’s condition continued to deteriorate, and the king finally succumbed to his illness in May 1185. Although the rivalry between Baldwin and Saladin ended in 1185, Saladin continued to challenge Baldwin’s successors. He captured Jerusalem in 1187 following the disastrous Christian defeat at the Battle of Hattin.

The two men were, in many ways, evenly matched in military skill and political leadership. However, Baldwin’s illness earned him the respect and admiration of both friend and foe, and his determination in the defense of Jerusalem distinguished him as one of the most remarkable rulers of his age. Saladin himself would enjoy a reputation among Christians as a paragon of chivalric virtue. Time and again, Baldwin’s resolve compelled Saladin to treat him as a serious and capable opponent. After Montgisard, neither ruler underestimated the other. Their conflict demonstrates that even during a religious war, admiration and respect could exist between enemies bound by an aristocratic code of honor.

Baldwin IV, known as the ‘Leper King’ of Jerusalem, ruled his fragile kingdom with unexpected strength for over a decade. Afflicted by leprosy from a young age, he nevertheless held together a realm threatened externally by Saladin and internally by factional rivalries. His authority, resilience, and political control kept powerful nobles in check and invasion at bay. Yet when Baldwin died in 1185 aged just 24, the delicate balance he had maintained collapsed, exposing deep divisions that would soon cost Jerusalem its survival.

The Death of Baldwin IV

Crippled by leprosy since his teens, Baldwin IV had been a surprisingly effective king. His illness elicited compassion from his subjects, and their loyalty to their sick king was a key factor in the success of his kingship.

In 1185, Baldwin finally succumbed to his illness and died. He was buried close to his father in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre.

Within two years of Baldwin’s death, the kingdom he had striven so hard to defend had fallen into the hands of his longstanding Muslim rival, Saladin.

Events leading up to the Leper King’s death help explain why, after his passing, the kingdom fell, and the city was lost to Christendom forever.

Baldwin IV and Guy of Lusignan

Baldwin IV, the Leper King who defied a death sentence, was diagnosed shortly after his coronation in 1174. It was understood that he would not father any children to succeed him. His elder sister, Sybilla, and his younger half-sister, Isabella, were therefore central to the succession.

Sybilla married William of Montferrat in 1177, and by him she bore a son named Baldwin. Montferrat died shortly before the child’s birth, and Sybilla later married a second husband, Guy of Lusignan.

By 1183, Baldwin became too ill to rule and needed a regent to govern alongside him. Guy, as his brother-in-law and the husband of the heiress to the kingdom, was the natural choice. Guy proved to be a poor military commander whom the nobles refused to follow, and Baldwin removed him from his post within weeks of his appointment.

Guy’s unpopularity meant that the prospect of him succeeding to his brother-in-law’s throne was deeply contentious. Most vocal amongst those in opposition to Guy was Raymond III of Tripoli, a cousin of Baldwin IV and a man who served as his regent on several occasions.

To ensure Guy would not succeed him and thus tear the kingdom apart, Baldwin attempted to have Guy’s marriage to Sybilla annulled. But Guy’s disobedience, along with Sybilla’s refusal to leave the husband she loved, thwarted Baldwin’s plans.

King Baldwin V, the King’s Nephew

With Guy out of the picture, the desperately ill Baldwin IV had to reconsider his succession. Agnes of Courtenay, Baldwin’s mother, was a strong influence over her son. She suggested that Baldwin appoint his nephew, Sybilla’s son, as his successor.

Acting on his mother’s advice, Baldwin addressed the matter by having his nephew crowned as his co-ruler. It also denied Guy the throne and was welcomed by the nobility. In November 1183, the coronation was celebrated in Jerusalem, and both kings appeared in their crowns.

Baldwin V would rule alongside a regent, Raymond III of Tripoli, who would once again relieve the burden of kingship from Baldwin IV until his death. Although Baldwin IV knew that it was not ideal for his young nephew to rule as sole king, he hoped that Raymond’s competence and experience would allow the kingdom to survive until Baldwin V came of age.

Although Baldwin IV’s plans did come to fruition, they would not last long. Baldwin V died in August 1186, a mere 17 months after his uncle.

Guy Becomes King

Upon the boy’s death, the throne passed to his mother, Sybilla. The nobles, however, still opposed Guy. They agreed to crown her only on the condition that she divorce him. Sybilla agreed, but only if she could choose her next husband to rule alongside her.

With the divorce agreed, Sybilla celebrated her coronation in September 1186. When asked whom she chose to rule alongside her, she remarried Guy and had him crowned alongside her.

A disgruntled Raymond left Jerusalem. He failed to garner enough support to mount a concerted effort to challenge Sybilla and Guy’s rule, since most of the nobles reluctantly agreed to work with Guy. Undoubtedly, they wanted to avoid civil war, but it was difficult to remove an anointed and crowned king.

Guy began his reign in the same way Baldwin IV’s had begun, with the looming threat of Saladin. But in 1186, Saladin was in a much stronger position and had serious designs on Jerusalem. Having acquired the crown, Guy was about to face his greatest and most challenging test.

The Muslims Unify Under Saladin

Saladin, the first sultan of both Egypt and Syria, had spent much of Baldwin IV’s reign establishing and consolidating his position. He waged war not only against Baldwin IV but also against fellow Muslims in Syria. Saladin made significant conquests at the expense of his Muslim rivals, including the prominent cities of Damascus and Aleppo.

Saladin had the added advantage of being able to call upon reinforcements from Egypt for his Syrian campaigns. Egypt was immensely wealthy and the envy of the Christians.

Saladin claimed he had been sent by God and that his victories against the Crusaders and fellow Muslims were evidence of divine approval. He began uniting the Muslims in Syria under his leadership with the intention of removing the Franks from Jerusalem and the remaining Crusader States, including Antioch and Tripoli. He convinced his co-religionists that he could expel the Franks from Syria once and for all.

When the Crusaders embarked on the First Crusade (1096–1099), they faced a divided Islam. By 1187, Saladin had created a sense of unity among the Muslims in Syria and could now move against the new king of Jerusalem, unpopular among his own people and ruling over a divided kingdom.

The Road to Hattin

In early 1187, Reynald of Châtillon gave Saladin a perfect pretext for invading the Kingdom of Jerusalem. Reynald attacked a Muslim pilgrim caravan, breaking a fragile peace that had been established with Saladin.

Saladin sought revenge and vowed to kill Reynald for this insult. He entered the kingdom and sent raiding parties to ravage the lands around Frankish-held Acre. Gerard de Ridefort, Grand Master of the Knights Templar, went out with a small force to meet the invaders. The Battle of Cresson took place in May 1187 and saw the Templar force decimated by a numerically superior Muslim army. Only Gerard and a handful of knights survived.

In response, King Guy assembled the Frankish forces at the Springs of Sepphoris, demoralized by this recent disaster. The Muslim army then turned towards Tiberias to besiege the castle there, commanded by Eschiva, the wife of Raymond of Tripoli. Guy called an assembly and decided to march to relieve her, beginning the 26-kilometer march to Tiberias. Unbeknownst to Guy, the Crusader army had fallen into Saladin’s trap.

The Battle of Hattin, July 4, 1187

The march from the Springs of Sepphoris removed Guy’s army from an abundant water supply. Their march in the blistering summer sun was arduous and dry. As they made their way on July 3, it became clear they would not reach Tiberias by nightfall. The most important necessity for an army is water, and they had none.

It was decided to detour towards the Springs of Kafr Hattin, camp overnight, and march to Tiberias the following day. However, Saladin thwarted their plans. The Muslims blocked the route to the water source, and Guy’s dehydrated army was forced to camp near the village of Meskenah. Desperate for water, their Muslim foes taunted the Franks, pouring water onto the ground before their eyes and lighting fires to intensify their thirst.

On the morning of July 4, 1187, Guy drew up his battle lines. Pelted by arrows and smoke from burning fires, the Franks were weakened by thirst.

Raymond of Tripoli, no friend of Guy, led an unsuccessful charge early in the battle. Rather than returning to reform his lines, Raymond fled and headed for Tripoli.

Guy’s troops were massacred at the Battle of Hattin, and the king himself was captured. Had he been able to garner greater support from the nobles, including Raymond of Tripoli, the outcome may have been different. But Guy’s unpopularity meant he was unable to fully unify the nobles under his leadership.

The Fall of Jerusalem 1187

With most of its army destroyed at Hattin, the kingdom was defended by a small garrison. Saladin marched to Jerusalem and laid siege to the city. On October 2, 1187, he secured its surrender.

Balian of Ibelin led the defense and agreed to surrender the city only if Saladin allowed the inhabitants to ransom themselves. He threatened to destroy Islamic holy sites and kill Muslim hostages should the sultan refuse. The pragmatic sultan accepted Balian’s conditions.

Only around 18,000 Christian inhabitants were able to pay their ransom, many thanks to financial contributions from Balian and the Church. Approximately 15,000 Christians were taken into slavery.

Saladin was able to take advantage first of a minor king and then of an unpopular king on Jerusalem’s throne. Guy had called for reinforcements before Hattin, but these failed to materialize. His unpopularity and inability to secure the nobles’ cooperation ultimately cost him his throne.

Baldwin IV’s death did not simply remove a king; it removed the authority that had held a fragile kingdom together. Under his rule, rival factions were restrained, and Saladin’s advances checked. Without him, the unity fractured. Guy of Lusignan proved unable to command the loyalty of the nobles or unite them under his leadership, while Saladin had forged a powerful and unified Muslim force in Syria. When Jerusalem fell in 1187, it was the result not only of external strength but of internal division and failed leadership.

In the comfort of the royal palace, Prince Baldwin played an innocent, boyish game with his peers. This incident would reveal something that would change the course not only of the prince’s life, but also that of his kingdom. A leper king from a young age, Baldwin IV’s story is a remarkable chapter in the history of the Jerusalemite dynasty. Unrivaled in his courageous attempts to protect his kingdom, Baldwin’s throne would pass to lesser men, but his legacy and his example endured throughout the centuries.

A Childhood Game Reveals Tragedy

While Baldwin was a young prince, his tutor William of Tyre discovered something that would shake the Jerusalemite dynasty to its core. William relates that Baldwin:

“was playing one day with his companions of noble rank, when they began, as playful boys often do, to pinch each other’s arms and hands with their nails. The other boys gave evidence of pain by their outcries, but Baldwin, although his comrades did not spare him, endured it altogether too patiently, as if he felt nothing. After this had occurred several times, it was reported to me. At first I supposed that it proceeded from his capacity for endurance and not from lack of sensitiveness. But when I called him and began to inquire what it meant, I discovered that his right arm and hand were partially numb, so that he did not feel pinching or even biting in the least.”

William suggests that at first, he assumed Baldwin’s strength and stamina were the cause of his unusual ability to endure the pinching from his peers. Yet upon further investigation, Baldwin’s numbness became a cause for grave concern.

William of Tyre

William, later Archbishop of Tyre, was born in Jerusalem around the year 1130. Most of what we know about him comes from his chronicle known as The Historia, in which he includes few details about himself. Probably born to Frankish parents, William’s intellectual talents were recognized early, and he was sent to Western Europe to study in preparation for a career in the Church. He returned to the Holy Land in 1165.

King Amalric soon recognized William’s abilities, and in 1167, appointed him Archdeacon and later Archbishop of Tyre. After the two men discovered they shared a love of history, the king asked William to compile a history of the Jerusalemite dynasty. In 1170, in a further mark of trust, Amalric appointed William as tutor to his young son, Prince Baldwin. William undertook this task with care and diligence and took great delight in his new pupil.

For the next four years, William remained constantly in the prince’s company. This exalted position also gave him regular access to the king and members of the royal court. His presence there provided valuable opportunities to gather information and testimony for the chronicle he was composing.

Tutor to Prince Baldwin

Baldwin proved to be an astute student who demonstrated a keen intellect. William instructed him in reading and writing, as well as in the liberal arts. He discovered that, like his father, Baldwin shared a love of history and enjoyed listening to historical tales, no doubt recounted to him by William as he compiled his chronicle.

William’s task would also have been to prepare Baldwin for his future role as king. This preparation involved developing essential skills, including ensuring he acquired a working knowledge of legal matters. Significantly, Baldwin’s education also included cultivating the social skills necessary for kingship, enabling him to converse easily with his nobles and subjects of all ranks.

It was in this intimate role as tutor that William made his devastating discovery.

A Grim Diagnosis

William informed the king of Baldwin’s numbness, and physicians were consulted. He continues:

“Repeated fomentations, oil rubs, and even poisonous remedies were employed without result in the attempt to help him. For, as we recognized in process of time, these were the premonitory symptoms of a most serious and incurable disease which later became plainly apparent… For, as he began to reach years of maturity, it was evident that he was suffering from the terrible disease of leprosy.”

William’s account indicates that a formal diagnosis was not made until Baldwin “began to reach years of maturity.” This suggests that Baldwin suffered from lepromatous leprosy, the most severe form of the disease, which typically becomes fully apparent during adolescence. It would appear, therefore, that Baldwin was only definitively diagnosed with leprosy after his father’s death in 1174, when he became king aged 13.

William’s close relationship with Baldwin is revealed in his emotional response to the diagnosis: “It is impossible to refrain from tears while speaking of this great misfortune.” William grieved not only for the suffering of his pupil but also for the future of the kingdom. This moment was monumental. It shaped the fate not only of the Jerusalemite dynasty but of Jerusalem itself. Baldwin’s short life meant he was unlikely to emulate the accomplishments of many of his predecessors. Most significantly, he would not marry or produce children to succeed him. William likely feared that the throne would eventually pass to less capable hands, unworthy of the kingship.

Medieval Attitudes Towards Leprosy

In the medieval West, leprosy was considered highly contagious. For this reason, sufferers were often shunned. They were deemed unclean, and the disease from which they suffered was regarded as a physical manifestation of moral corruption. It was perceived as a punishment from God. Lepers were considered sinners and depraved individuals, and they were frequently banished from society lest they contaminate others with their incurable condition.

In the East, however, leprosy was better understood and not considered as highly contagious as in the West, a view closer to modern medical understanding. Flight from or shunning of the leper was not advocated in the same way. Indeed, a military order in the Holy Land, the Order of St Lazarus, was composed mostly of lepers.

Despite these differing attitudes, leprosy remained incompatible with kingship.

Baldwin IV, Leprosy and Kingship

We might ask how Baldwin contracted leprosy. Certainly, those around him were not recorded as lepers. If there had been any known sufferers within the royal household, they would surely have been kept away from the court.

Only a small percentage of the population is susceptible to leprosy. The disease spreads only to those who are vulnerable and typically requires prolonged, close contact with an infected individual. It is therefore likely that someone in close proximity to the young prince passed the disease on to him. This was probably his wet nurse or another individual responsible for his personal care during childhood.

Medieval kings were duty-bound to marry and produce heirs to continue the dynasty. Because leprosy was widely believed to be highly contagious, marriage was unlikely to have been seriously considered for Baldwin once his diagnosis became clear. Instead, the continuation of the dynasty would depend upon his elder sister, Sibylla.

There were also physical limitations to consider. Baldwin’s particular form of leprosy would render him increasingly disabled throughout his short adult life. Yet he was determined to rule and refused to allow his debilitating illness to prevent him from exercising effective kingship in Jerusalem.

As leprosy rendered Baldwin’s right arm useless, a riding tutor was appointed to teach him how to control a horse using only his knees. This adaptation allowed his left arm to remain free to wield a sword.

Baldwin the Warrior

Baldwin’s horsemanship enabled him to lead his troops into battle, and he did so from a remarkably young age. At 14 and 15, he participated in several raids against Damascus. In 1177, he led his forces to victory against Saladin at the Battle of Montgisard. Baldwin was only 16 years old at the time, yet he commanded a small force and defeated a numerically superior Muslim army. This extraordinary triumph secured his reputation as a formidable military king.

His courage was again evident in 1182, when he mustered an army to confront Saladin during an invasion of the kingdom. The following year, he led a force to relieve Christians besieged by Saladin at Kerak.

Baldwin demonstrated that illness did not equate to weakness. Despite his condition, he proved himself a worthy successor to his forefathers, the heroic leaders of the First Crusade.

The Leper King’s Body

Leprosy placed an enormous burden on Baldwin’s body. Ulcers would have caused severe pain in his arms and legs, and these wounds were prone to infection. The continual cleaning and dressing of them must have been agonizing for an already fragile body.

Leprosy attacks the extremities, and Baldwin’s nose, fingers, and toes would eventually have been destroyed by the disease. William of Tyre records that from 1182, “his sight failed and his extremities became completely deadened so that his hands and feet refused to perform their office.”

Although blind and with hands and feet that no longer functioned properly, Baldwin refused to retire. When he could no longer ride, he was carried in a litter, still appearing at the head of his forces. When important dignitaries arrived in the kingdom, Baldwin refused to receive them from his sickbed. During one severe episode of illness, he traveled in a litter from the relative comfort of Ascalon to Jerusalem to meet Count Philip of Flanders.

Baldwin’s endurance earned him widespread loyalty. There is no evidence to suggest that his subjects, or indeed others in the East, questioned his legitimacy as king. William writes: “The extremities and the face were especially attacked, so that his faithful followers were moved with compassion when they looked at him.” His face was likely disfigured from an early stage of the disease, yet despite his altered appearance and growing physical limitations, Baldwin retained his crown until his death in 1185.

Baldwin’s Legacy

William of Tyre’s emotional account of discovering Baldwin IV’s leprosy offers a rare glimpse into an intimate historical moment, one that would change the fortunes of Jerusalem and the Crusader States. Baldwin’s illness marked the beginning of the end for the kingdom, as his declining health contributed to internal division and a succession crisis following his death.

After Baldwin’s passing, the kingdom eventually fell into the hands of a less capable successor, Guy of Lusignan, whose military decisions culminated in disaster at the Battle of Hattin in 1187 and the subsequent fall of Jerusalem.

Baldwin, the Leper King who defied a death sentence for over a decade, eventually succumbed to his illness and died in 1185 at the age of 24, yet his legacy has endured for centuries. Burdened by extreme pain and physical deterioration, he nevertheless achieved remarkable feats within his short lifetime and is remembered as one of the most extraordinary rulers of the Middle Ages.

Toothaches have plagued humans since the dawn of homo sapiens. Archaeological evidence shows that people in the Neolithic period drilled holes in teeth for pain relief. A 6,500 year old Slovenian jawbone reveals a dental filling made from beeswax. More recently, Ancient Egyptians may have prescribed dead mice to treat toothaches. The treatment of infected or hurting teeth is a common thread throughout human history. How was this universal issue dealt with during the Middle Ages?

Medieval Diets: Bread and Sugar, or Lack Thereof

Although cakes, pastries, and chocolate are European staples today, sugar was not introduced into Europe until the First Crusade at the end of the 11th century. Crusaders first encountered sugar, or ‘sweet salt’ as they referred to it, during their visit to the Holy Land. Soldiers from the Crusades then carried the sweet substance back with them to Europe. However, it would take several centuries, and colonization of sugar-producing societies, before sugar became the food staple as we know it today.

The lack of readily available and refined sugar meant that people in the Middle Ages may have had better teeth than some people in the 21st century. However, tooth pain, decay, and infection were still ailments suffered in the Middle Ages.

Although sugar was absent, people in the Middle Ages ate other foodstuffs that decayed teeth. Bread was a staple, but medieval bread was ground by stone and extremely dense, causing teeth to wear down. Additionally, dental care was not a top priority. Despite the existence of medieval manuscripts advising methods of dental care, scholars like Juhani Norri suggest the average person in the Middle Ages likely did not have good dental habits. Diet combined with poor dental tendencies necessitated medical attention, procedures, and the people to administer them.

Medieval Barber-Surgeons

Although the treatment of dental pain has existed for millennia, the concept of a physician dedicated solely to teeth is relatively modern. Dentistry was a field spearheaded by French physicians beginning in the 18th century. Before dentists, if you were experiencing tooth pain, you would pay a visit to a physician, or a barber-surgeon, who combined the cutting of hair and the shaving of beards with operations like tooth extraction and bloodletting.

This was because these invasive procedures were deemed low status. The university curriculum at Oxford and Cambridge did not even include these surgeries for medical students. Instead, university-enrolled physicians spent their time analyzing the causes of different illnesses and their treatment using herbs and other concoctions.

This left operations like teeth-pulling and bloodletting “princypally with the handes of the werkman,” or barber, as a late Medieval English manuscript reads (Norri, p. 125). Rather than university, these jacks of all trades learned their craft through apprenticeships, which ranged anywhere between five and twelve years. Barbers may have also been the no-brainer choice for invasive procedures due to their readily available access to sharp instruments and tools, which they used for grooming.

Bloodletting and the work of barbers became so synonymous with each other that their relationship is symbolically represented today via the red and white barber pole. After bloodletting procedures, the blood-stained rags would be hung outside barber shops possibly as a form of advertisement, informing the public what they could get done in addition to grooming. The way these rags twisted in the wind would become the basis for the spiral shape of the barber’s pole, which remains an iconic symbol used by barbershops throughout the world today.

The Four Humors

Why was bloodletting a part of dental care? Medieval medicine perceived the human body as a delicate balance between the four humors, or fluids. These were phlegm, blood, bile, and black bile. Each humor was tied to a specific state of being: cold and wet, hot and wet, hot and dry, and cold and dry, respectively. One became sick when one of these became imbalanced. To reinstate balance, treatment targeted the humor opposite the imbalanced humor: if a hot humor was in excess, the treatment involved increasing cold humors.

Bloodletting was used to relieve humors in excess. This procedure was practiced throughout human history in Ancient Egypt, Ancient Greece, and the Islamic world. By the Middle Ages, it was widely accepted as a viable treatment for a number of ailments, not just for dental pain. Bloodletting released the ‘bad’ or excessive humor from the body. Venesection, or cutting into the arm, was the most common form of bloodletting, but leeches would also be used to drain blood.

Worm-Infested Teeth

‘Corrupt’ humors could also create worms in the brain that trickled down to the teeth, causing toothaches and decay. Like bloodletting, the connection between worms and tooth pain was widely accepted throughout different eras of human history and across different parts of the world. Ancient Egyptians, Sumerians, and people living as far as China all shared this belief. In fact, the association of tooth pain with worms persisted long after the Middle Ages, maintaining a role in medical treatment as late as the 18th century.

People believed that the worms first took root in the jaws then migrated into the teeth. Tooth pain would occur as a result of these worms moving. However, worms could also be stagnant, or remain still. When this happened, a person would not feel any pain. Regardless of whether worms were moving or stagnant, they needed to be swiftly expelled from the mouth. One common method to extract them during the Middle Ages was through fumigation. This involved placing henbane seeds on top of smoking coals, which the patient was supposed to inhale via a pipe. By placing smoke beneath the teeth, the worms would eventually drop out from the mouth due to suffocation.

However, unfortunate side effects of this procedure were convulsions and hysteria. This is because henbane was a type of seriously poisonous plant. Surgeons and physicians of the Middle Ages were well aware of this side effect, and medieval physicians were warned not to get too close. However, despite the warnings, this practice was still used in parts of England up until the 20th century. Another poisonous plant used for fumigations was hellebore, which was labeled as “venemous & dystourblyng [disturbing]” (Norri, p. 132).

Cauterization

Another form of dental treatment in the Middle Ages was cauterization. There were many variations, but all generally involved heating an iron or bronze needle and placing it directly on a hurting tooth. Although practiced for millennia, the procedure came to be largely associated with 11th century Arab physician Al Zahrawi. A highly motivated and busy medical scholar, he produced over 200 surgical tools and wrote an extensive 30-volume medical text, the Kitab al-Tasrif. A big proponent of cauterization, Al Zahrawi’s text references this treatment nearly 50 times.

In addition to treating other ailments, Al Zahrawi also proposed cauterization to fill tooth holes. This involved placing a hot iron directly on a tooth hole until it cooled. This was repeated several times, so “the pain [would] surely pass, the same day or the day after.” Al Zahrawi’s procedures were widely referenced and practiced throughout European medicine, especially those of cauterization.

The Medieval Netherlands even used a variation of cauterization for dental fillings. A hot iron pricker would dipped into a concoction of olive oil, marjoram, and seed of hemlock. Like the procedures of Al Zahrawi, this was applied directly to the hole in the tooth and re-applied several times.

Exodontia

Tooth pulling, or exodontia, was the final straw if nothing else worked and pain persisted. However, even in the Middle Ages people understood the risks associated with tooth extraction. This procedure was highly dangerous because it could be fatal. Medical texts warned against extracting teeth that were not loose. A Medieval Dutch physician wrote: “If there are holes in teeth with pain and the teeth are not loose the teeth should not be extracted. In many people this resulted in a fatal outcome without healing, many are deceased in this.” Wrongly or poorly pulled teeth could also result in jaw abscesses and bone splinters.

However, if a patient’s tooth was bad enough, they would pay a visit to the barber for this risky business. Teeth extraction in the Middle Ages was a public spectacle. Private dentist offices did not exist, so many treatments were done in public spaces, in some cases as part of a public performance. In addition to barbers, there were the journeying ‘tooth-pullers.’ In most cases they were charlatans, simply taking advantage of people’s pain in order to make a quick buck in the cities they were passing through.

Teeth-Pulling Charlatans

In fact, the word charlatan comes from the Italian ciarlatano, which meant someone who sold enslaved people, trinkets, and pulled teeth in public spaces (Wynbrandt, p. 30). They would usually be part of a traveling circus, and a wide stage would be set up in the town square. The procedures were made public as a marketing strategy. The more people in the crowd, the higher the chances there were people experiencing tooth pain who would be willing participants.

The tooth-puller, decorated with a necklace of teeth, would entice the crowd by first inviting an actor, unbeknownst to the crowd, who would perform having their teeth pulled. This encouraged others to follow suit. There were typically loud instruments being played, which would drown out the sounds of people’s screams. Their lack of credentials did not stop the tooth pullers, who would simply move on to the next town after their performances, leaving behind them a macabre trail of “life threatening complications” (Wynbrandt, p. 27).

Besides bloodletting, purging, and fumigation, some dental treatments incorporated materials that were downright vile. Some concoctions called for “excrement, urine, and any kind of dirt as the basic ingredients” (Norri, p. 132). The person administering them was encouraged not to reveal the medicine’s true ingredients. One recipe from a 15th century medical book recommends the physician to take “raven’s dung and put it in the hollow tooth and color it with the juice of pellitory of Spain that the sick recognize it not nor know what it be” (Wynbrandt, p. 29). Like the charlatan teeth-puller, these treatments were based on deceit.

The Legacy of Medieval Dentistry

The Middle Ages was a difficult era for toothaches. Surrounded by the bloodstained rags of barbers, cauterizations, and tooth-pulling charlatans, the average person was likely intimidated to seek dental treatment, for good reason. However regressive we may perceive these practices, many persisted well past the Medieval Period, some creating foundations for modern dentistry. Further, this macabre dental history may have bled into the modern psyche; could dental phobia be lingering trauma from medieval dental procedures?

Bibliography 

Norri, Juhani. “Dental treatment and related vocabulary in late medieval England.” Mémoires de La Société Néophilologique, 18 Oct. 2024, pp. 123–152, https://doi.org/10.51814/ufy.1041.c1457.

Wynbrandt, James. The Excruciating History of Dentistry Toothsome Tales & Oral Oddities from Babylon to Braces. St. Martin’s Press, 2024.

The Baltic region was a major center of trade and commerce in Medieval Europe. During the 14th and 15th centuries, Baltic trade was controlled by the Hanseatic League, a network of port cities across northern Europe that had its own armed fleet and foreign policy. Lübeck, Gdańsk, Riga, Tallinn, Visby, and Rostock were among the most important Hanseatic port cities.

1. Lübeck

The commercial center of the Hanseatic League was the city of Lübeck in northern Germany. The city was founded on an island near rivers flowing inland and the Baltic Sea. Following the development of its port, Lübeck became the main intermediary for trade between Western Europe, Scandinavia, and the cities of Novgorod and Pskov in northwestern Rus’. The Lübeck law, one of Europe’s earliest supranational trade regimes, standardized trade practices and regulations across the Hanseatic ports.

Salt discovered in the nearby city of Lüneburg was transported to Lübeck for sale, powering much of the city’s economy. Demand was always high due to the use of salt for the preservation of herring and meats, a necessity for sailors. The revenue gained through the salt trade enabled the city to expand into a sprawling metropolis. It was also the center of the Hanseatic Diet, where representatives of all League member cities gathered to coordinate trade and commercial policy.

2. Gdańsk

The main Hanseatic port in present-day Poland was the city of Gdańsk (known in German as Danzig). Its location at the mouth of the Vistula River was optimal for trade to both inland Poland and other locations around Europe. Gdańsk’s immense wealth came from its grain and timber trade, as well as the export of other valuable raw materials like amber, potash, and tar. Even today Gdańsk is still one of the main Baltic ports and one of Poland’s primary export hubs for maritime trade.

Despite being a prosperous member of the League, Gdańsk’s city administration faced challenges. Its location meant that it had to choose between the Polish Kingdom and the Teutonic Knights. Its decision to side with the victorious Poles was rewarded with a grant of autonomy by King Casimir IV Jagiellon. This reward enabled Gdańsk to conduct its own trade policies and accumulate substantial wealth, which was displayed by the expansion of the city in a similar fashion to Lübeck. Gdańsk’s wealth and trading connections ensured its continued prosperity even after the formal dissolution of the League in 1669.

3. Riga

Further to the east, the city of Riga (today the capital of Latvia) was located at the mouth of the Daugava River. It was founded in 1201 by German colonists who hoped for the city to become a major trade hub. In 1282, the city joined the Hanseatic League and adopted the Lübeck law. Its merchants traded valuable goods such as furs, wax, and timber from medieval Rus’ in exchange for Western European textiles, salt, and wine.

Riga’s Old Town is the main part of the city that existed during the Medieval period. As the chair of the Livonian Hanseatic Diet, Riga held significant regional political power and oversaw the League’s trading posts in Russian cities like Smolensk and Polotsk.

4. Tallinn

In 1285, the city of Tallinn, known as Reval in German, joined the Hansa. Its location on the Gulf of Finland made it a trade hub for goods headed from Western and Central Europe to Russia. Tallinn was granted the crucial “staple right” in 1346, which forced all goods passing through to be sold locally, ensuring local merchants profited from all transit trade. This helped the city’s economy grow and profit more than its merchants had anticipated when the city first joined the League.

The city’s Old Town, including its iconic towers and city walls, was constructed using customs revenue collected by city officials. As the northernmost outpost of the League, Tallinn was formidable and heavily fortified, holding complex political alliances with Danish and Teutonic rulers in order to preserve its economic advantages. It also attracted German settlers, most of whom dominated the city’s economy until the Second World War.

5. Visby

The Swedish town of Visby, located on the strategically important island of Gotland, was contentious. In 1361, King Valdemar IV of Denmark conquered Gotland and looted the town’s coffers. It would suffer additional attacks from a variety of foes, including pirate gangs and the Teutonic Knights. In 1470, the town’s membership in the League was suspended and its independence was finally ended half a century later with an attack by a militia from Lübeck during a power struggle between rival Danish kings Frederick I and Christian II.

Visby’s merchants worked the lucrative east-west trade routes, transporting Russian furs, wax, and timber from Novgorod to German and Scandinavian markets. The wealth enabled the town to grow and build defenses, necessary in the face of repeated attacks, but it simply wasn’t enough to combat the hostility and trade rivalries. The legacy of the Hanseatic League remains in Visby today, but its chance at becoming the dominant port in the League was suppressed by the repeated attacks and lootings.

6. Rostock

In 1251, the German city of Rostock, located on the Warnow River, joined the Hansa. By the 14th century, Rostock was the largest city in Mecklenburg and a formidable naval power. Its location and absorption of several nearby ports helped the city to grow, making it rival Lübeck as one of the main Hanseatic ports in Germany. Its strategic interests were strengthened by the incorporation of the nearby fishing village of Warnemünde in 1323, ensuring direct and unimpeded access to the Baltic Sea.

Despite the attempts by German nobles to control Rostock, the city’s impressive wealth allowed it to maintain autonomy. The city’s location and economic power gave it a formidable amount of leverage that helped fend off any threats to the city’s income and status in the League. Rostock’s legacy was further strengthened by the founding of the University of Rostock in 1419, one of the oldest educational establishments in the Baltic region. Today, even after the fall of the League, Rostock remains a prominent German port.

The Anglo-Saxons invaded Britain in the 5th century. However, it would take many centuries before anything resembling “England” actually existed. Yet, by the Norman Conquest of 1066, England existed to such a strong degree that the Norman French conquerors came to be absorbed by it rather than the other way around. How was this firm and unshakable English identity created in those intervening centuries? To what degree was it the result of natural processes compared to the conscious effort of a select few? This article takes a look at the evidence.

The Venerable Bede: Writing a Nation Into Existence

A unified political entity which can be recognized as England did not emerge until the 10th century. However, even before it was a political reality, it was effectively a literary reality. Or at least, we can identify the presence of a collective English identity in the writings of Bede. He was a historian from the 8th century who wrote a work entitled Historia ecclesiastica gentis Anglorum. It is better known in English as An Ecclesiastical History of the English People.

From the very title of the work, we can see that Bede promoted the idea of the various Anglo-Saxon kingdoms being part of one collective English identity. They were, collectively, the “English people.” This description tore down the barriers that were in place by the existence of various separate and competing kingdoms in the minds of those who read it.

We know that Bede’s work was extensively read. Even missionaries on the continent in the 8th century requested copies of it. The idea of a distinct English identity was thus quickly and extensively propagated through Bede’s Ecclesiastical History of the English People.

Old English: The Language of the People

One key factor involved in forming a sense of common identity is the existence of a common language. After all, imagine if the various inhabitants of what is now England spoke different languages, or they spoke one language, but it was the same as that spoken by some other ethnic group. This would tend to work against the formation of a distinct, collective identity.

In the case of the early English, we know that the Anglo-Saxons did not entirely wipe out the native Britons from the territory that they conquered in the 5th century. In fact, in some areas of what was gradually becoming England, quite a large percentage of the population were Britons. They had their own language, Common Brittonic. Furthermore, the language of literature was Latin, which was a language used by countless other nations as well.

In the next section, we will see how Alfred the Great influenced the adoption of English over Latin as the language of literature. However, in the case of the spoken language of the countless Britons inhabiting Anglo-Saxon territory, the explanation for why they adopted English is unknown. What we do know is that there are almost no identifiable Brittonic loan words in Old English. This suggests that there was immense social pressure for the Britons to adopt Old English and stop speaking their own language.

This evident fact dovetails with a 2022 genetic study into the medieval English, which found evidence for significant integration between the Britons and the Anglo-Saxons. Hence, it was evidently a matter of the Britons wanting to adopt the language that would allow them to be better accepted within the communities in which they lived.

Alfred the Great: The Architect of “Englaland”

The social pressure that forced the native Britons to abandon their native tongue and speak Old English is only part of the equation. It does not explain how English won out over Latin as the language of literature.

In the 10th century, King Alfred the Great made significant contributions towards creating an English identity. One way was by actively promoting literacy among his people. He did not just promote any kind of literacy, or literacy in Latin. Rather, he specifically encouraged his people to become literate in English. In fact, he promoted the West Sussex dialect as a kind of standardized form of English. This significantly contributed to the sense of shared identity by the population across England.

Furthermore, Alfred commissioned the translation of various important Latin works into English. There is even evidence that some translations were done by Alfred himself. By doing this, he enabled his subjects to take pride in themselves as English people and not simply poor imitations of the Romans.

As well as promoting a shared language and encouraging literacy, Alfred also contributed to the identity of England by styling himself as the King of the Anglo-Saxons. This was in stark contrast to simply calling himself the king of his own kingdom, Wessex. By referring to everyone as “Anglo-Saxons,” he was intentionally portraying his subjects as part of one people, with one identity.

The Common Law: One People, One Justice

While England was still divided into various Anglo-Saxon kingdoms, the inhabitants were subject to various contradictory laws depending on where they lived. The inhabitants of Northumbria, for example, did not have the same laws as those of Mercia, who did not have the same laws as those of Wessex.

When Alfred the Great managed to establish himself as the King of the Anglo-Saxons, he established a law code which, in theory, was supposed to apply to all the English. To what degree it actually did is debatable. In any case, the law code in question is called the Doom Book. This law code is commonly seen as the ancestor to what later became Common Law in the Norman period, and as establishing the concept of a standardized legal system throughout the whole country.

Medieval sources make mention of a concept called the witan. The witan was an assembly of men of various positions who would hear a matter in the presence of the king and assist him in making a decision. For a long time, this was viewed as a precursor to the Parliament of modern England. However, scholarship over the past century has emphasized that this particular aspect of Anglo-Saxon governance does not, in fact, appear to have contributed to the identity of England as we know it. In fact, the assembly of the witan appears to have simply been an assembly of the king’s royal court. There was nothing substantively democratic about it. Rather, it was a royal institution.

The Viking Threat: Unity Through Adversity

Another factor that contributed to the formation of the identity of England came about through an external threat. From the late 8th century onwards, the Vikings fiercely and relentlessly attacked Britain. They managed to successfully conquer a large portion of it, which was governed under what was known as Danelaw.

Before this time, the different Anglo-Saxon kingdoms battled for supremacy. This cultivated a sense of distinction and “otherness” between the inhabitants of those kingdoms. However, when the Vikings started to invade, the Anglo-Saxons saw that they all had a common enemy. This had the natural consequence of forcing them to work together and thus come to see themselves as one people fighting against an outside group.

Additionally, the Vikings successfully managed to conquer some of the major Anglo-Saxon kingdoms. For instance, they conquered Northumbria, East Anglia, and at least parts of Mercia. Therefore, this removed most of the competition from Wessex, which thus quickly stepped up to become the leading Anglo-Saxon opposition to the Vikings. As a result, the borders that had existed between the separate Anglo-Saxon kingdoms were mostly torn down.

The Vikings might have completely snuffed out the identity of England before it had even truly formed if they had been more successful in their attacks. As things turned out, Alfred the Great achieved a decisive victory against the Vikings at the Battle of Edington in 878. The result was a truce between Alfred and Guthrum, the Viking ruler. Due to this, the Anglo-Saxons were preserved as a people, and a distinct, collective identity was able to gain traction and flourish during the rest of Alfred’s reign.

The Legacy of the Angelcynn

As we can see from this brief consideration of the emergence of the identity of England, much of it has to do with Alfred the Great. As well as styling himself the King of the Anglo-Saxons, we also see a surge in the use of the term “Angelcynn,” meaning “English folk.” While that may just be a consequence of the greater English literacy that marked his reign, such literacy in itself had a large part to play in fostering the concept of a shared English identity.

Alfred’s development of a single law code for his kingdom likewise played a large part, as did his defense of the English against the invading Vikings, especially at the Battle of Edington. However, even before Alfred, Bede contributed to the formation of an English identity by writing a history specifically of the “English people,” which history quickly became enormously popular.

These factors, as well as others that we have seen, led to such a strong English identity that it was not snuffed out by the Norman invasion of 1066. Rather, the new ruling class eventually succumbed to that strongly established English identity.

In popular imagination, King Arthur is strongly associated with glorious castles, noble knights, and magical wizards. This is far removed from the reality of early Dark Age Britain in the 6th century AD. For instance, instead of castles, the centers of power were mostly either Roman settlements or reoccupied Iron Age hillforts. And what about Arthur himself? Did the legendary king really exist? In this article, we will examine five of the prime candidates for the historical King Arthur. Rather than being a single figure, they may all have contributed to the legend of the king.

1. Lucius Artorius Castus: The Roman Template

One of the historical King Arthur candidates that has become popular over the last few decades is Lucius Artorius Castus. He was a Roman officer who served in Britain at some point in either the 2nd or 3rd century AD. Supporters of this theory argue that Castus contributed to several fundamental aspects of the Arthurian legend.

The first obvious contribution that might be attributable to this historical King Arthur candidate is the name “Artorius.” Scholars widely agree that this is the origin of the name “Arthur,” which we see being used among the Welsh in later centuries. While we cannot be absolutely sure that Lucius Artorius Castus was the figure who introduced the name to Britain, it is not implausible. There is no other high-status figure named Artorius recorded as being present in Britain, certainly not earlier than Castus. So, the name of King Arthur may originate with this historical Roman officer.

Furthermore, Castus served at the legionary base at York, or Eboracum. This ties in with the fact that King Arthur is associated with the north of England in some of the earliest records. For instance, the battle list in the Historia Brittonum likely includes locations in the north. Hence, if Castus was a Roman officer leading the defence of the territory up to Hadrian’s Wall against barbarian invaders, that corresponds well with the legend of King Arthur.

Additionally, some researchers have argued that Castus likely led Sarmatian troops who had been stationed in Britain in AD 175. The Sarmatians were famous cavalry warriors, and they fought under a dragon banner. This seems tantalisingly similar to the tradition of King Arthur leading his knights under dragon imagery.

The Sarmatian connection gets even more significant when we realise that Arthurian lore contains some startling similarities to legends from the east. One such Ossetian legend, which might reflect what the ancient Sarmatians believed, concerns a hero named Batraz. He was unable to die as long as his sword stayed on land, so he had his men throw his sword into the sea. When they did, the sea turned blood red, the water began to boil and storm, and the waves made supernatural sounds.

This is similar to the legend of Arthur’s sword, Excalibur, being thrown into a lake and caught by the magical Lady of the Lake. Furthermore, it has been argued that the Sarmatians had a cultic practice of plunging a sword into the ground. The imagery of a sacred sword sticking out of the ground admittedly evokes the famous Sword in the Stone from the Arthurian legends. If Castus, as the leader of Sarmatian troops in Britain, became associated with some of the Sarmatian legends, then this could go a long way to explaining the legends of King Arthur.

However, one of the key drawbacks of this theory is that Castus likely left Britain in the 160s, before the Sarmatians had even arrived. Also, his position at Eboracum makes it unlikely that he ever led any troops into battle in Britain. As for the legends of Batraz and the sword cult, there is no definitive evidence that these were actually part of Sarmatian culture. The legends of Batraz, in fact, are not attested before the modern era.

2. Ambrosius Aurelianus: The Last of the Romans

A more plausible candidate for inspiring the legend of Arthur is Ambrosius Aurelianus. He was recorded by Gildas, a writer from the 6th century. Based on this evidence, scholars widely agree that he was a real figure. How may he, at least in part, have been the real King Arthur?

The most famous victory attributed to King Arthur in the legends is the Battle of Badon Hill. This was the last of the twelve Arthurian battles in the Historia Brittonum’s battle list. It was the battle that supposedly halted the Anglo-Saxon advance for a generation or two.

Gildas, however, infamously does not mention Arthur. From his De Excidio, we know that Ambrosius Aurelianus was a historical war leader who fought powerfully against the Saxons in the 5th century. We do not know much about his background, but Gildas does say that he was the “last of the Romans” and that his parents had “worn the purple.”  The exact meaning of this is debated, but evidently, Ambrosius was some kind of Romano-British aristocrat.

After mentioning him, Gildas states that from that time on, sometimes victory went to the Saxons, and sometimes it went to the Britons, until the Battle of Badon Hill. He does not explicitly say that Ambrosius was the victor at this battle. Nevertheless, he makes it clear that it was the climax of the Britons’ efforts to fight back against the Saxons. Therefore, many scholars interpret Gildas’ words to mean that Ambrosius was the true victor at the Battle of Badon Hill. It was only later, according to this interpretation, that the victory was taken from Ambrosius and credited to Arthur by later scribes.

3. Riothamus: The King of the Britons in Gaul

Another warlord from Dark Age Britain, who is one of the prime historical candidates for the real King Arthur, is Riothamus. He is known from two Roman sources, one from the 5th century and one from the 6th century. The more important of these two is the account by the 6th-century historian Jordanes.

He described how Riothamus, the king of the Britons, assisted the Romans in a battle against Euric of the Visigoths in the year 470. This idea of a king of the Britons travelling from Britain to Gaul to fight a battle in association with the Romans is fascinating for its similarities to the Arthurian legends. In the account of Arthur’s life by Geoffrey of Monmouth, Arthur is said to have travelled to Gaul with a large army to fight against the Romans.

In addition to this overall similarity, Riothamus is said by Jordanes to have fled to the territory of the Burgundians. It is argued that, given the location of the battle in the territory of the Bituriges, his route while fleeing would have brought him near a town called Avallon. This is then connected to the tradition of Arthur being taken to the Isle of Avalon after being betrayed by his nephew, Mordred.

While a tempting connection, other scholars find this alleged connection to be fraught with difficulties. For example, Riothamus was an ally of the Romans. In contrast, King Arthur is said to have fought against them during his European war. Additionally, there is no guarantee that Riothamus led an army from Britain to Gaul. He is called the king of the Britons, but there were already Britons established in the northwest corner of Gaul by the 5th century. Therefore, Riothamus could easily have been the king of that region.

The connection between Avallon and Avalon also ignores that King Arthur’s Avalon was where he went immediately after the Battle of Camlann, not immediately after his battles on the continent.

4. Owain Danwyn: The Bear of Powys

Another popular candidate for the real King Arthur is Owan Danwyn. In the context of historical figures who may have inspired King Arthur, he is usually called Owain Ddantgwyn, using an older form of his moniker. The foundation of this theory is based on a crucial piece of linguistic information. In Welsh, the word for “bear” is “arth.” The reason that this is so important is that Owain, according to this theory, was known as the Bear. Hence, stories about him may have contributed to the legends of Arthur.

The basis for this idea comes from Gildas. He directed some negative comments towards a king named Cuneglasus. As part of his condemnation of this historical king, he states: “thou bear, thou rider and ruler of many, and guider of the chariot which is the receptacle of the bear.”

In this statement, Gildas refers to Cuneglasus as a bear. Yet he also calls him the driver of the chariot of the bear. Based on this, some researchers argue that Cuneglasus was a commander in the army of someone else who was also known as a bear. These two pieces of information are harmonised by these researchers by claiming that the “Bear” was a nickname used by Cuneglasus and his father, evidently a nickname passed from father to son. According to later medieval genealogical records, Owain Danwyn was the father of Cuneglasus, thus connecting him to the name “Arth.”

Archaeology has shown that Wroxeter, or the Roman Viroconium, was a powerful city in the Arthurian period. This was in the kingdom of Powys, the kingdom that Owain ruled according to this theory. This could have contributed to the legend of Arthur having his grand city of Camelot.

However, scholars have highlighted that there is actually no basis for linking Owain to the kingdom of Powys. In reality, historians believe him to have been the king of Rhos, a small kingdom next to Gwynedd.

5. Athrwys ap Meurig: The King of Caerleon

Our final candidate for the real King Arthur, who has been popular for several centuries now, is Athrwys ap Meurig. He was a king of Gwent and its two neighbouring kingdoms (Glywysing and Ergyng) at some point in Dark Age Britain. There is debate over whether he lived in the 6th century or the 7th century.

One of the biggest drawing points in favor of this theory is that he lived and ruled in southeast Wales. This is an area which is heavily associated with King Arthur in the legends. For example, King Arthur’s main court was said by Geoffrey of Monmouth to have been Caerleon-upon-Usk. The 11th-century Life of St Cadoc also associates Arthur with this area.

Furthermore, some researchers have pointed out similarities between Arthur’s legendary family members and those of Athrwys. One notable example is Gwrfoddw Hen. He appears in the Mabinogion as the maternal uncle of Arthur. Meanwhile, in the Book of Llandaff, a king of Ergyng named Gwrfoddw appears as an older contemporary of Athrwys. Ergyng was the kingdom of Athrwys’ mother, Onbrawst. There is also a tradition that Athrwys had a sister named Anna, just like King Arthur in the legends.

Many scholars believe that Athrwys lived too late to have actually been the real King Arthur. Nevertheless, many agree that he may well have contributed to the legends, especially as regards the Arthurian connection to Caerleon and southeast Wales in general.

How History Became Myth

In conclusion, we can see that there are several figures who may well have inspired the legends of King Arthur. While one was a Roman officer, most were Dark Age warlords. These historical King Arthur candidates all have different merits, and scholars continue to debate whether any or all of them really did contribute to the legends.

Lucius Artorius Castus might have brought the name “Arthur” into Britain. However, given what we know about his career, it is unlikely that he contributed anything other than that. Ambrosius Aurelianus may have been the true victor of King Arthur’s most famous battle, although the evidence from Gildas is ambiguous. Riothamus might be the core behind the legend of Arthur’s European campaign and his journey to Avalon, albeit both suggestions are fraught with problems.

As for Owain Danwyn, while possibly being known by the nickname “Arth” (the Bear), the arguments for him inspiring the legends of King Arthur have been rejected by most scholars for good reason. Finally, we have seen that Athrwys ap Meurig may have contributed to the tradition associating King Arthur with southeast Wales, as well as potentially lending his family members to the legends.

Throughout European history, legends tell of a grim cavalcade of spectral riders, chasing prey across the night sky in an eternal procession of ghostly horror. Found in cultures from the Germanic peoples to the Slavs and the Celts, this phenomenon was, and still is, a portent of doom, preceding war, plague, and death.

Striking fear into the hearts of all those who witnessed it, this is the Wild Hunt.

What Was the Wild Hunt?

Found across many cultures of Europe, including Slavic, Germanic, and Celtic societies, the Wild Hunt was a motif that involved the common idea of a procession of ghostly hunters making their way across the night sky. While the details may have varied from culture to culture, and indeed, from person to person, the theme remained the same, and it was always ominous.

It was believed to precede great catastrophes, and those who saw it feared for their lives. Their spirits could be whisked away to join in the eternal procession, or they could be abducted and taken away to some horrific fate in unearthly realms.

Tied into regional myth, the Hunt could be led by a wide variety of figures, from gods to legendary heroes and the spirits of people who actually lived. Accompanying them were a host of spirits that were equally diverse across cultures.

The Origins of the Wild Hunt

The term “Wild Hunt” existed for many centuries, but was popularized in modern literature by Jacob Grimm, who documented tales relating to it in his Deutsche Mythologie of 1835. Variations on the theme saw it being referred to as a  “Wilde Jagd ” (Wild Hunt), a “Wütendes Heer” (Raging Host), and a “Wildes Heer” (Wild Army) in different parts of Germany.

Grimm researched medieval and modern texts, as well as oral narratives surrounding the myth, noting how these stories changed over time. He traced the tale back to ancient times before Christianity spread through Germany, and suggested that the leader of the Hunt was actually the god, Wodan (or the Norse version “Odin”), or a female counterpart named Holda or Berchta. The Hunt could also be led by Wodan’s wife, whom Grimm called “frau Gaude.”

He further suggested that the Hunt was not always ominous tidings. It was, in fact, quite the opposite and represented good fortune. It was thought that the Hunt visited the mortal realm during Yule and other special occasions, accepting offerings and blessing the land and its people. With the adoption of Christianity, the old ways were recast in an unflattering light, demonized to discredit their support within communities.

Grimm’s theories, however, have been challenged in modern times. Historian Claude Leconteux noted that there is no evidence of Odin’s association with the Wild Hunt prior to the early modern period. This is unsurprising given that early Germanic religion was one of oral tradition.

Much of what is believed is based on Grimm’s assumptions rather than rigorous academic research. There is no evidence that associates the Wild Hunt with similar beliefs across pre-Christian Europe, although certain pre-Christian figures were later incorporated into the myth. A perfect example of this was the god Wodan, also known as Odin in Germanic mythology.

The Re-Interpretation of Odin in the Wild Hunt

Germanic (including Norse) myths lent themselves to the Wild Hunt myth, and Odin was particularly well-suited to guide it in Christian interpretation over the ages. Odin was the leader of the Æsir and was immensely powerful, invoked for strength, courage, and wisdom by his worshipers and as an instrument of terror to his foes.

In Germanic mythology, Odin was also the god of war and death, who, along with his Valkyries, oversaw the recruitment of fallen warriors into his army. His domain fitted the Christian interpretation of the Wild Hunt, as it struck down mortals and took their spirits to join in its unholy cavalcade.

The caveat is that in pre-Christian beliefs, Odin oversaw only those who died in battle, and he did not ride around causing doom and destruction and mass killings of people who were not warriors. As such, Odin and his motives were reinterpreted rather than lifted from ancient beliefs.

Other Cultures, Gods, and Legendary Figures

The Wild Hunt is not limited to German tales, and it is found in cultures throughout Europe, from Germanic people to the Latin European countries, the Celtic peoples, and in Slavic culture.

In Old English, one of the leaders of the Hunt was “Herla,” who has been suggested as being a form of Wodan or Odin. The Hunt was referred to as “Herlaþing” (Herle’s assembly). Another major figure associated with the Hunt in England is Herne the Hunter, a Shakespearean character influenced by folktales around the county of Berkshire.

The Hunt has many other names in England, including Herod’s Hunt, likely referencing the biblical King Herod who murdered infants, as Herod makes an appearance in certain French tales of the Hunt as well.

Unsurprisingly, Odin appears in the Scandinavian myths, and the Hunt has many names, including “Åsgårdsrei” (Asgard’s Ride) or “Oskoreia” (also tentatively translated as Asgard’s Ride) in Norway, and “Odens Jakt” (Odin’s Hunt) and “Vilda Jakten” (Wild Hunt) in Sweden.

In Wales, the myth appeared in the Middle Ages, and is led by either Arawn, who is the king of the Otherworld, or Gwyn ap Nudd, who, according to the tales, ruled the realm in Arawn’s stead for some time. The Hunt is accompanied by Arawn’s red-eared hounds and can be found in the tale of “Cŵn Annwn” (Hounds of Annwn).

In Slavic cultures, the myth is also present, although it is usually considered to have been imported from Germanic culture. In Polish, it is known as “Dziki Łów” (Wild Hunt), in Czech, “divoký hon” or “štvaní” (Wild Hunt or Pursuit), and in Belarus, it is known as “Дзікае Паляванне” (Dzikaje Paliavannie—Wild Hunt).

In Spain, the myth is first mentioned in literature in 1260 by a deacon named Gonzalo de Berceo, who described the event as a “hueste antigua” (ancient host), led by the Devil. The Hunt has many references and variations of names, the most imaginative of which are “Cortejo de Gente de Muerte” (Deadly Retinue) in Extremadura, and “Hueste de Ánimas” (Troop of Ghosts) in León.

In the Northwest of Spain and in parts of Portugal, the Wild Hunt is manifested as the Santa Compaña (Holy Company) and involves tormented souls in hooded white cloaks being led through the parish by a cursed, entranced living person who has no recollection of the event.

Italy, too, has many variations. Some stories involve the Hunt being led by King Theodoric the Great, who ruled over vast areas of the former Roman Empire. This is in contrast to the  Germanic legend of Theodoric as a heroic figure with apocryphal stories. It is said he encountered the Wild Hunt while trying to rescue the maiden Babehilt from a giant named Fasolt.

In the Lunigiana region of Italy, the Wild Hunt (Caccia Selvaggia) is known as the “Caccia Infernale” (Infernal Hunt), and is preceded by icy gusts of wind and involves packs of ferocious hounds and violent spirits.

The Wild Hunt in Modern Times

The symbolic representation of the Wild Hunt is poignant in that it is malleable and can be interpreted to fit certain traditions. It has found a home in the modern rebirth of paganism, the Wiccan religion. Some Wiccan groups have used the Wild Hunt to inspire their own rituals. Such an example was noted by anthropologist Susan Greenwood, who provided an account of a Halloween ceremony in Norfolk involving a race through a forest.

So popular was the idea of the Wild Hunt that it became a widespread trope that endures to the present, if not as a believable phenomenon, then as a form of entertainment. Adapted for fantasy fiction, it forms a central plot of The Witcher books, video games, and television series, created by Polish author Andrzej Sapkowski. One of the biggest-selling video games, The Witcher III: Wild Hunt, follows the story of Geralt of Rivia as he attempts to find his ward, Ciri, who is pursued by the Wild Hunt, a group of powerful elves.

Despite the immense popularity of the Witcher series, there is a possible derivative of the Wild Hunt that is even more famous—that of Santa Claus. In pre-Christian times, Yuletide was associated with Odin, and when Europe underwent a transition to Christianity, many of Yule’s traditions were adopted into the tradition of Christmas.

A common image of Odin is that of an old fatherly figure with a long white beard, riding his eight-legged horse, Sleipnir, across the night sky through the last days of December. It is easy to see how this would influence popular imagery of Santa Claus, and it is theorized that Odin was a direct inspiration for Santa Claus. Thus, Santa Claus may be connected to the Wild Hunt. The similarities between the Wild Hunt motifs and a reindeer-pulled sleigh riding across the night sky in midwinter are not easy to dismiss.

The Wild Hunt is a case in how mythology evolves, and elements of beliefs are preserved through the traditions of others. To this day, it persists in many forms, reflecting the human fascination with explaining death and the unknown.