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In June 1147, the largely Muslim population of Lisbon found itself under attack from a considerable foreign force. Part of this was composed of their Christian neighbours to the north in the rapidly expanding kingdom of Portugal. Their leader, Afonso I – Afonso ‘the Great’ (O Grande) in Portuguese – had recently declared himself king, following victory over the Almoravid governor of Córdoba at Ourique in 1139. Since then, Afonso had steadily chipped away at the territories of al-Andalus (Islamic Iberia). Now his eyes were firmly set on the prize of Lisbon.1 Yet the lion’s share of his soldiers were not Iberian at all. They hailed from northern Europe – from Flanders, the Rhineland, and (above all) Anglo-Norman England.
This episode is therefore part of the wider story of Norman conquest and consolidation. The Norman complexion of the force is underlined by the anonymous Latin text known as ‘On the Conquest of Lisbon’ (De expugnatione Lyxbonensi), written by an Anglo-Norman cleric.2 According to this, the unusually cosmopolitan army had first gathered that spring at Dartmouth in south-western Devon. The occasion of the muster was the Second Crusade, the first major expedition to the East since Bohemond’s abortive strike against Byzantium in 1107 to 1108. The crusade had been called following the loss of the strategic city (and county) of Edessa in 1144. For the first time since 1099, the western presence in the Holy Land looked to be at risk. What was needed was a pre-emptive strike to regain Edessa and reinforce the Christian hold on the holy of holies.
The poster boy of the Second Crusade was Bernard, the charismatic abbot of Clairvaux in France, who was (after the pope) the most influential churchman in western Christendom. Bernard preached about the need for the crusade in his native land and in the German Rhineland. Helped by memories of the First Crusade, his message met with great enthusiasm.3 At Bernard’s instruction, both Louis VII of France and Conrad III of Germany took the cross – and, with them, a large cross-section of the French and German aristocracy. Yet crusade fever was not limited to such elevated circles. Many others among the lower nobility and merchant communities of Europe’s rapidly growing cities of the Rhineland and Low Countries were keen to do their bit for the cause. It was men such as these who composed the bulk of the force which gathered at Dartmouth. Here they chose to organise themselves along co-operative lines, much like a guild, commune or urban association, swearing mutual oaths to act in tandem and uphold certain common principles. According to these, the army would avoid costly dress (which leads to sin), not let women go out in public and maintain regular religious observances. They would also elect two representatives from every thousand men, who would oversee the settlement of disputes and distribution of booty.4
We know frustratingly little about the Anglo-Norman contingent. A significant element hailed from East Anglia, including Hervey de Glanvill, in whose service the author of De expugnatione Lyxbonensi stood. Others may have come from the home counties of the south east, and some probably joined from Devon and the south west, where the army gathered. The choice of Dartmouth as a point of assembly was, however, largely dictated by practical concerns. The deep-water harbour there stood on the natural sea routes from southern and eastern England to the Mediterranean, and it only required a short detour for the detachments joining from the Rhineland and Low Countries.
From here, the fleet set sail on 23 May 1147. According to our main account, this comprised some 164 ships, though other sources suggest the number may have approached 200. This was a considerable force of perhaps between 8,000 and 10,000 men. The Anglo-Normans were the largest element, probably constituting just shy of half the army. Three days after departing, they came within sight of Brittany. Here, they were becalmed for two days. As the wind picked up and they made their way across the Bay of Biscay, however, the crusaders ran into trouble. For favourable winds turned into a tempest and the fleet’s ships were dispersed. Many of those aboard interpreted this as a sign of divine displeasure. And only once they’d confessed their sins and offered prayers of repentance, did the storm start to abate, allowing them to make for the harbour at the port of S. Salvador (then known as Gozzim, now Luanco just north of Oviedo). From here, they proceeded along the northern coast of Spain. Some of the party seem to have stopped off to visit the famous pilgrimage site of St James at Santiago de Compostela, before finally reaching Oporto on 16 June.5
It was here that Lisbon came into the picture. The crusaders were met at Oporto by the local bishop Peter Pitões, acting on behalf of King Afonso. Afonso himself was on campaign in the south, and it was Peter’s task to win the crusaders over for the Portuguese cause. Afonso had probably been planning this for some time. He’d attempted to take Lisbon five years earlier, also with external help, so knew full well how pious pilgrims might be won over. He may have been further encouraged by the amorphous nature of the Second Crusade. This had always been envisaged as a set of loosely associated initiatives, focussed on the Holy Land, but encompassing strikes against Muslims and pagans elsewhere in Iberia and central to eastern Europe.
It’s even been suggested that Lisbon was the fleet’s destination from the start. This is unlikely. The siege may have offered a natural prelude to the following year’s action in the Middle East, but the author of our account – who writes as an eye-witness – gives no indication of such plans. Quite the reverse, he makes it clear that the crusaders took much persuading. After receiving the king’s initial invitation, they waited till the following morning to deliberate. At this point, Bishop Peter is reported to have preached to them, playing up the threat presented by Islamic al-Andalus to the Christian population of the Portuguese realm and underlining the importance of redeeming Lisbon. These lengthy justifications – invented though they probably are by our author – are a clear sign that the consent of the crusaders was not assured. It was only after Peter’s impassioned plea that they agreed even to meet with Afonso.6
The crusaders now travelled south to Lisbon, in order to hear more from the king. Here, they were treated to another lengthy set-piece speech, this time by Afonso himself. The problem for the crusaders was that they’d sworn oaths to pursue the crusade, so any unsanctioned diversion – and Lisbon had not been formally identified as part of the crusading cause – was potentially a breach of faith. In response, Peter and Afonso both presented the attack on Lisbon in terms of the defence of Christendom. But without formal papal sanction, it was far from certain that this constituted a bona fide crusade. A second set of problems arose from the fact that some of the Anglo-Normans had been part of the earlier force which had sought to take Lisbon in 1142. This had been a similar undertaking, with Afonso redirecting a group of pilgrims on their way to the Holy Land.7 We know little about the campaign, save that it ended in failure and recriminations. Those who’d been involved were now adamant that the king was a man of bad faith and encouraged their comrades to bypass Lisbon and head straight for the Holy Land.
Most of the fleet, however, was convinced by Afonso’s words. It therefore fell to Hervey de Glanvill to win over the eight recalcitrant crews of Anglo-Normans with yet another speech. This is the most famous section of the whole account in De expugnatione. In it, Hervey appeals to a shared sense of Norman pride. Noting the variety of peoples brought together beneath the crusading banner, he emphasises how essential it is for the Normans to pull their weight:
[R]ecalling the virtues of our ancestors, we ought to strive to increase the honour and glory of our race rather than cover tarnished glory with the rags of malice. For the remarkable feats of the elders kept in memory by the successors are signs of love and honour. If you are worthy emulators of the elders, honour and glory will follow you; but if [you are] unworthy, then the disgrace of reproach [will do so]. For who does not know that the race of the Normans declines no labour in the continual practice of valour?
Hervey then reproached them for their troublemaking, noting that there were no such divisions among the men of Cologne (the Rhinelanders) or Flanders. In a final plea, he returns to his theme, urging them not to bring shame on their fellow countrymen – and on Normandy itself, the ‘mother of our race’.8
This moving entreaty had the desired effect, and the reluctant crews fell into line. As our account is written by an associate of Hervey, we may doubt that they were won over by eloquence alone (or indeed that Hervey was alone in applying pressure). But embellished though the speech may be, it provides precious insights into how the expedition was understood by its participants. It reveals that, despite the communal ethos of their vows, the crusaders remained starkly divided along ethnic lines – divisions exacerbated by the refusal to participate of a small Anglo-Norman detachment. Afonso had been surprised to learn that there was no single leader of the force; and now the difficulties of the army’s complex constitution were laid bare. Communal government worked well when there was consensus, but struggled in the face of dissent.
In the end, Afonso got the men he needed. He agreed generous terms, including paying the crusaders for their service and giving them the right to sack the city (and ransom its population). Lisbon was well defended, as Afonso had learned five years previously. Even with these additional forces, success was far from inevitable. The siege began on 1 July and would last the better part of four months.
The first move for Afonso and his men was to secure the suburbs. They met with success here and were fortunate to secure the lion’s share of the city’s stores, which (rather unwisely) had been kept outside the walls. Further progress was not immediately forthcoming, however, and both sides settled in for a lengthy siege. Efforts were made to bring siege engines to bear, but these had little effect. As the months passed, spirits began to flag within the crusader camp. What had been intended as a brief detour now risked becoming an all-encompassing affair. The cost of the siege is revealed by the cemeteries consecrated for the crusaders, one for the Anglo-Normans to the west and another for the Rhinelanders and Flemings in the east. Yet just when morale was starting to hit rock bottom, good fortune shone on the besiegers. They intercepted a boat trying to break the blockade, which bore letters pleading for help from the ruler of Evora to the east. Soon thereafter, they intercepted a message back from Evora, informing the citizens that no such help would be forthcoming. These tidings put wind in the crusaders’ sails.
By late October, the writing was on the wall for the people of Lisbon. The Anglo-Normans had now managed to bring a siege tower to bear on the south-west corner of the walls. In response, the inhabitants asked for a night’s truce to consider their options. The following morning, they offered terms of surrender: the city and all its gold would go to Afonso, provided the citizens were spared. As was probably the intention, this created fresh divisions among the crusaders. This time, it was the Flemings and Rhinelanders who were the problem. While the Anglo-Normans were apparently happy to accept the terms and move on, their comrades insisted that it was unfair for Afonso to profit from a victory they had won. Initially, they were forced to relent. But when the time came to occupy the city, the Flemings and men of Cologne proceeded to sack it anyway. Only with great difficulty was order re-established, so that the gains might be properly distributed.
Once Lisbon had fallen, the town of Sintra to the north and the castle of Palmela to the south west likewise submitted. A member of the crusading force, Gilbert of Hastings, was now chosen as the new bishop of the city. On All Saints’ day (1 November), Lisbon’s leading mosque – a church and seat of the local bishopric until the eighth century – was ritually purified and re-consecrated. Thereafter, the Muslims of the neighbouring regions suffered a severe pestilence, which our author interprets as a sign of divine disfavour. He includes an extended thanks to God, before concluding his account.
Our author is a well-informed observer; but by his own admission, he is far from neutral. He writes from the perspective of the Anglo-Norman camp – and from Hervey’s section thereof. When other Anglo-Normans drag their feet, they’re in the wrong; when the Flemings and Rhinelanders cause troubles, it’s put down to greed and impiety. In reality, matters must have been more complicated. Many Anglo-Normans seem to have been put out by the terms of surrender, and it’s unlikely that they refrained from the ensuing sacking of the city.
But whatever caveats we may raise, there’s no reason to doubt the gist of the report. Our author may exaggerate, but invention would not have got him very far. Letters from the German contingents serve to complement his account. We also possess briefer notices of these events, which confirm the broad outline of his narrative. Indeed, precisely because of the many groups involved, the sack of Lisbon is reported in histories and chronicles from across the Low Countries, Saxony, England, Scotland and France.9 These other reports help trace the crusaders’ movements after the siege, at which point the anonymous chronicler goes silent. Many of these have the army proceed straight to the Holy Land, where it joined the main crusading force. But there is reason to doubt this was so. For the Flemish Annals of Elmar – which are well-informed on this score – report that the army departed in February 1148 (a detail confirmed in other sources), then sacked Faro in southern Portugal.10 Evidently the crusaders continued to do their bit for the Christian cause while circumnavigating the peninsula.
Nor did they leave matters at that. An aside in the Genoese statesman and historian Caffaro’s account of the siege of the Catalonian city Tortosa (1147–8), for which Genoa provided crucial naval support, reveals that there were Anglo-Norman troops involved here. And while Caffaro gives no explanation as to how they got there, this was almost certainly the same army (or a portion thereof). In fact, this is precisely what a Cologne chronicler reports: after taking Lisbon, the army helped storm Tortosa, before proceeding to the Holy Land. The latter chronicler writes within living memory of these events, in the city which had supplied the army’s Rhineland contingent.11
Later charters from the region reveal significant Anglo-Norman settlement in and around Tortosa. This indicates that while most of the army made its way to the Holy Land (as the Cologne chronicler has it), elements stayed on to help settle the newly Christianised city.12 There is an interesting contrast here with Lisbon. With the exception of Bishop Gilbert, we have no evidence of any settlement there. This may in part be because the charter record is richer for Catalonia than it is for Portugal. Yet it also reflects the different nature of the two undertakings. There was some uncertainty as to whether the siege of Lisbon was part of the crusade, but there could be no such doubt at Tortosa. Here Pope Eugenius III had indeed called for crusade. Having seen the siege through to its end, the crusaders had therefore fulfilled their vows. And with Count Ramon Berenguer IV of Catalonia keen on settlers, it must have been tempting to serve the Christian cause there. To this day, ‘Angles’ survives as a distinctive regional surname in Catalonia.
The Second Crusade was not the only Norman involvement in Iberia. While his countrymen were making initial advances into southern Italy, Roger of Tosny had carved out a fearsome reputation for himself in early eleventh-century Catalonia. In many respects, the situation within the two regions was analogous. Political authority was fragmented and there were gains to be made at the expense of Islamic neighbours – as well as other Christian potentates. And much like his Italian counterparts, Roger soon married into the local noble family. But just as Roger looked set to put down roots, he was driven from the region by an ambush (perhaps sprung by jealous Catalan magnates). Still, involvement in the peninsula seems to have become something of a familial tradition, and Roger’s son is also reported to have spent time in the region.13
Connections between Normandy and Iberia never became especially strong, but there are ample signs of continuing interest in the peninsula in later years, particularly in the context of conflicts with al-Andalus and its Christian neighbours.14 Robert Crispin is said to have taken part in the siege of Barbastro in 1064, before finding further employment in Italy and then Byzantium. More lasting was the contribution made by two other Normans, Rotrou de la Perche and Robert Burdet, in the early twelfth century. The former had joined the First Crusade among the forces of Robert Curthose and may have joined in early campaigns led by Alfonso I (‘the Battler’) of Aragon (c.1104/5). Certainly by the 1120s, Rotrou was at Alfonso’s side. He was rewarded with some sectors of Saragossa and is named count of Tuleda (which fell in 1119) by 1123. Rotrou would return to Normandy in 1125 with much of his entourage, but reappeared in Aragon in the early 1130s, still in the role of count of Tuleda.15 It was, however, one of Rotrou’s followers, Robert Burdet, who would leave the more lasting mark. Robert had been Rotrou’s second-in-command at Tuleda. In 1129, he was invited to take over the newly created frontier lordship of Tarragona. Robert went on to rule this with great success, attempting to found an independent polity much like that of the Hautevilles. However, opposition from the local archbishops, as well as the counts of Barcelona and kings of Aragon, eventually brought these dreams to an end. Still, a Norman presence was maintained in the region until 1177.16
Norman involvement in Iberia was thus by no means negligible, and bears comparison with what we’ve seen in the Balkans and Asia Minor. As in the latter regions, the Normans were involved at a number of key junctures, leaving a lasting mark on the political landscape (Lisbon would go on to be the capital of Portugal, while Tortosa became an important Catalan holding on the Christian-Muslim frontier). Yet they were never fully integrated into local power structures and attempts at independent state-building did not meet with success. In part, this was a matter of luck. In Italy, it was only a combination of good fortune and political nous which ensured that the early Norman presence would endure; in Iberia, the misfortunes of Roger of Tosny and Robert Burdet had the reverse effect. It also reflects the smaller numbers involved. Many northern magnates participated in the conquest and colonisation of al-Andalus, and the Norman presence, while not insignificant, rarely stood out.