Six unfairly obscure medieval villains

[Mississippienne]

septimus, the origins of Marozia’s parents are fairly obscure; her father Teofilatto was a native of Tusculum, like Sergius III, and he and Sergius may have been cousins. Teofilatto was also possibly related to the Conti family, but it’s not clear if he WAS a Conti himself or if they were relatives by marriage or on the distaff side. At this time in the medieval period surnames were not particularly fixed, and people might adopt their mother’s surname (if her lineage was grander than their father’s) or go by a byname, and therefore confuse all us historians hundreds of years later.

As for the Crescenzi, they were a huge and influential clan, and the confusion seems to come from the fact that they intermarried with Teofilatto’s clan. Marozia’s sister Theodora II (another daughter of Teofilatto and Theodora) married the consul Gratianus, and their daughter, Theodora III, married Giovanni Crescenzi.

This third Theodora and Giovanni Crescenzi had several children: Giovanni (later Pope John XIII), Crescenzio I, Stephania, Theodora IV, and Marozia Crescenzi. Of this group, Theodora IV married Giovanni III, duke of Naples, and their descendants would rule Naples for the next couple of centuries. Stephania married Benedetto, count of Campagna, and their son Benedetto was given the fiefdom of Palestrina by his uncle Pope John XIII; the Colonna appear to be descended from this family. Crescenzio I and especially his son Giovanni Nomentatus would wrestle with the Holy Roman Emperors for control over Rome. Their heyday came to an end when Giovanni III Crescenzi, a son of Giovanni Nomentatus, died in 1012.

Basically, at any given time there were like 300 Crescenzis running around, usually given weird nicknames like Crescenzio a Caballo Marmoreo, Crescenzio de Bonizo, Crescenzio de Roizo, Crescenzio Squatta Casata, Crescenzio de Duranti, Crescenzio a Puteo de Proba, etc. etc. Theodora III’s son, Crescenzio I, was known as Crescenzio de Theodora, adding his mother’s name onto his own (he was obviously very proud of her powerful family connections). Benedetto of Palestrina, the nephew of Pope John XIII, married Theodoranda, daughter of Crescenzio a Caballo Marmoreo (of the Marble Horse); she was probably some kind of cousin of his, but who knows precisely how?

[Oslo_Ostragoth]

You need to make your stuff into a blog, to which I will happily subscribe.

[Inner_Stickler]

Yes and then you could include like tree diagrams or something because I am sitting here with a pen and paper and still confused about the lineages.

[Mississippienne]

3. Gerard de Ridefort.

Gerard de Ridefort was Grand Master of the Knights Templar and Marshal of the kingdom of Jerusalem, and he did more to bring both of them down than any of his enemies ever could’ve hoped to.

Okay, so by 12th century standards Gerard de Ridefort was a nobody, a Flemish mercenary (sodoier, according to the chronicler Ernoul) who, like so many violent, wild young malcontents, blew into the kingdom of Jerusalem looking to cover himself in glory. He found employment with King Amaury of Jerusalem and soon climbed to the position of Marshal of the kingdom by 1179, before striking out again and joining the mesnie of Count Raymond III of Tripoli.

Now Raymond was a cousin of the king of Jerusalem, and himself one of the most respected and important men in the kingdom; he was well-read, prudent, and cautious. When Gerard arrived in Outremer (‘Overseas’, the European nickname for the Holy Land and surrounding areas, basically) Raymond had only recently been released from nine years of captivity in Aleppo, during which time he had learned Arabic. He was very impressed with Gerard and offered him a place in his service.

Now here’s where things get tricky. See, Gerard was a knight, and a brave one, but he was also a raging egomaniac who loved launching hotheaded attacks on the Saracens that inevitably got everyone *but *him killed. He also had a spectacular sense of entitlement. When William Dorel, lord of Boutron 1, died leaving his daughter Cecile as his heiress, Gerard went straight to Raymond and demanded the girl’s hand in marriage. Raymond was already regretting having hired this guy, and he had no intention of handing over an important heiress to this vicious little upstart, anyway. So he turned Gerard down flat and Cecile married a wealthy Italian named Plivano instead 2.

Gerard stomped off in a huff telling anyone who would listen that Raymond was a lying liar who lies and that he promised him an heiress and didn’t deliver. He returned to Jerusalem and joined the Knights Templar, beginning a rise to power so meteoric that the only possible explanation is that he slept his way to the top.

Is it only coincidence that the Templar seal is two knights riding double?

In only a few short years Gerard had made his way to the top, becoming Grand Master of the Order and one of the most powerful men in the kingdom. His allies at court included the former queen of Jerusalem, Agnes de Courtenay, and her lover, the Patriarch Heraclius; Agnes’ daughter, Sibylla, and her husband, the handsome but not particularly talented Guy de Lusignan. Sibylla of Jerusalem was the sister of the Leper King, Baldwin IV, and after he died her son by her first marriage, Baldwin V, became king.

The child-king Baldwin V died in 1186, Gerard expertly manuevered his friends onto the throne. He persuaded Sybilla to claim the throne of Jerusalem for herself and Guy, pushing aside Raymond of Tripoli, who had been declared regent, and it was he who handed over the keys to the treasury, against the wishes of Roger des Moulins, the Grand Master of the Knights Hospitaller, and he who placed the crown on Guy’s head, saying as he did so, “This crown is well worth Boutron.”

Reynald de Chatillon, himself a great villain, had attacked a Muslim caravan 3, breaking the truce with Saladin. Raymond of Tripoli, who hoped Saladin would ally with him against Guy de Lusignan, allowed Saladin’s forces to pass safely through his lands and into the kingdom of Jerusalem. Gerard’s brilliant plan was to rashly attack the army of Saladin’s son al-Afdal, which was camped near Nazareth, at the springs of Cresson.

Al-Afdal’s forces numbered about 7,000. Gerard had 140 knights, plus a few hundred infantry, and a very reluctant Roger des Moulins. They were cut to pieces. Before the battle, Roger des Moulins had begged Gerard not to charge; poor Roger got a lance through the chest and died. Gerard had also taunted another Templar, Jacquelin de Mailly, that he “loved his blond head too much to lose it”; Jacquelin disagreed, and vowed to stay and fight, which he did, to the bitter end. He also died, but Gerard, that Karma Houdini, escaped.

Raymond of Tripoli tried to send warnings about Saladin’s army, but Gerard, because of his hatred for Raymond, counseled Guy de Lusignan to ignore them, and march into the desert at Hattin and engage the Saracens.

The Battle of Hattin was a complete disaster. Saladin crushed the forces of the kingdom of Jerusalem, and took prisoner Gerard, Guy, and Reynald de Chatillon. When the prisoners were brought before him, Saladin gave Guy a cup of water. Guy drank from it, then offered the cup to the exhausted Reynald. Saladin flipped a shit, accused Reynald de Chatillon of being a perfidious ass 4, and killed him with his own hands. Jerusalem itself fell to Saladin, and Queen Sibylla fled.

Gerard spent awhile in the chokey before being ransomed. His first act was to head straight for Tyre and commandeer all the money King Henry II of England had sent to the Templars to help them defend Jerusalem. Meanwhile, Guy de Lusignan had also been released, and was in a desperate situation. Nothing was left of his wife Sibylla’s kingdom except for Tyre, which was held by Conrad of Montferrat 5, who was doing fine on his own and didn’t want anything to do with Guy or Sibylla.

Gerard then talked Guy into a reckless and crazy seige of Acre (Akko) 6. They marched to Acre in 1189 with the remnants of the Templars and the army of Jerusalem, joined by a motley crew of foreign princes bringing fresh soldiers. Saladin naturally showed up to the shindig with his own forces.

Now Gerard de Ridefort seems to have decided that this was his moment, his miracle, his chance to show his mettle. The chronicler Ambroise, a court-minstrel who had followed King Richard I of England on Crusade, and was there for the Battle of Acre, gives him this death scene:

When at the time of the attack, the bold and cowardly had said to [Gerard], “Come away my lord, come away” – and he might have gone had he wished – he said this, “May it not please God that I should be in another place, nor the Templars ever be reproached because I have been caught in flight.” He did not go, so he died, for so many Turks came againt him.

Okay, so this doesn’t sound much like the Gerard we know, but who knows, maybe he had a change of heart at the end and died fighting like a man. All that matters is that he died as he lived – charging headfirst into the fray, completely in over his head, dragging down everyone who believed in him along with him.

1. William Dorel was one of Raymond’s senior vassals.
2. The picturesque tale that Plivano bought her for her weight in gold is, well, likely no more than a tale.
3. There is no truth to the tale that he raped Saladin’s sister, which seems to be a modern invention.
4. Which was entirely true.
5. Conrad was the brother of Sibylla’s deceased first husband, William of Montferrat, and later the husband of Sibylla’s half-sister, Isabella of Jerusalem. He was assassinated, in all likelihood on the orders of Richard the Lion-hearted.
6. Why didn’t Guy just kill him, hide the body, and never speak of it again?

[Malthus]

@Tamerlane

I think that was pretty much all I was trying to argue. It’s not that I really disagree with you about his disagreeableness, it’s just that I disagree that his disagreeability was a magnitude more disagreeable than his often quite disagreeable contemporaries.

As it were.

Absolutely.

What is to be avoided is the tendency, among some commentators, to decide that if John got a bad rap, he must ergo be a good guy.

He wasn’t - he was a snake - but, as you point out, so were many of his contemporaries - including most notably his adored, lion-hearted brother.

No, but as you note I think his supposed incompetence has been exaggerated even more than his mendacious character. In the end, John failed and failed badly - history is not kind to losers.

But he really was a fairly smart man, a capable administrator and a brave, competent soldier ( if certainly not in the same class as his elder brother ). He was quite capable of clever strategems ( as his nephew learned to his cost ) and the occasional adroit political maneouver.

Caught while besieging Granny. How humiliating.

He’s another Angevin snake.

His problem was, as you quite correctly noted, a combination of financial weakness and being up against a genuine ruthless political mastermind in Philip Augustus, not for nothing considered one of the most successful French kings of all time.

But Bouvines was very close. A victory there and European history might have, in the short run at least, got stood on its head. John could have easily ended his days the dominant monarch in Europe and in popular histories his pecadilloes could have ended up being swept under the rug.

In the competition for least competent English king, I think someone like an Edward II has John beat by a mile. Though I’ll grant that personality-wise, from a more modern perspective at least, Edward does seem to have been altogether more likeable :).

What makes the whole thing so damn unfair, as the ghost of John might say, is that John’s failure was directly caused by his glamorous brother’s success - in that his bankruptcy was a direct result of his brother’s extravagance.

His brother fought on crusade, achieving nothing (but eternal glory) - and bankrupted his kingdom doing it. John had to pay the bill, and gained eternal infamy because of it.

As for Edward II, he certainly came to a bad end … so to speak. :eek:

[Tranquilis]

@Baker

Several posters here have mentioned that history students would pay more attention if the “juicy bits” were mentioned more in history class.

It works for subject other than history, too… My father learned latin by means of Procopius of Caesarea’s “The Secret History.” Nothing some good old (really old) fashioned pr0n to get the students interested!

[Malthus]

@Tranquilis

It works for subject other than history, too… My father learned latin by means of Procopius of Caesarea’s “The Secret History.” Nothing some good old (really old) fashioned pr0n to get the students interested!

So … what did the (future) Empress Theodora famously like to complain about?

The limited number of holes in her body to have sex with!

[Tranquilis]

Just so.

[fuzzypickles]

I’m hoping that

Gilles de Rais

will be number one or two.

[septimus]

@Mississippienne

the origins of Marozia’s parents are fairly obscure; … …Benedetto of Palestrina, the nephew of Pope John XIII, married Theodoranda, daughter of Crescenzio a Caballo Marmoreo (of the Marble Horse) …

Thank you very much for your response, Mississippienne.
Perusing medieval genealogies is one of my [del]inexplicable obsessions[/del] fun pastimes; the information you present here fills some holes not shown at the usual on-line sites.

Regarding your bio of Gerard de Ridefort, does it sometimes seem the Crusades often devolved into Christian -vs- Christian intrigues, with the setting in Muslim land just for dramatic effect?

[Mississippienne]

2. Emperor Basil I of Byzantium

Okay, in all honestly I could fill this list with *just *Byzantine bad girls and bad boys, but Basil I really deserves his moment in the spotlight. Basil broke damn near every law of man and God, and screwed blue and tattooed everyone in his path, and not only did he prosper for it, he became one of the most powerful men on planet Earth.

Basil’s origins were as complex and obscure as the theological dispute between the Catholic and Orthodox churches. When he became emperor he had his chroniclers retcon his origin 1 so the official story was that he was of royal descent, which is totally bogus, and that he was divinely-ordained by God to become emperor, which if true suggests that God either was having an off day or has a hell of a sense of humor. Anyway, from patching together a couple of different sources we can get a more-or-less probable account of Basil’s early life: he was born of Armenian parentage in Macedonia, and in 856 he went to Constantinople to make it in the big city, Midnight Cowboy-style.

Now the Byzantine emperor at this time was Michael III, who was a couple of years younger than Basil and a massive disappointment to everyone. He loved drinking, horse-racing, and consorting with his bodacious half-Greek, half-Swedish girlfriend, Eudokia Ingerine 2. This greatly displeased Michael’s mother, the dowager Empress Theodora, who decided to make her son settle down by finding him a suitable wife. She put on a sort of ‘Miss Byzantine Empire’ pageant, at which Eudokia Dekapolitissa was chosen, and married to Michael. Michael was underwhelmed and preferred shacking up with his original Eudokia.

When Michael got tired of hearing static about it, he murdered his co-regent, Theoktistos, and shut his mother and sisters up in a nunnery. He then continued partying like a rock star. Michael was an eccentric fellow who liked dressing up like a priest and roaming the city singing lewd songs, and in drunken rages he would condemn to death anyone who was handy.

Basil blew into town and was discovered sleeping on the front steps of a church by a priest named Nikolaos. Impressed by Basil’s good looks and physique, Nikolaos took him in off the streets. Basil traded up from him to the wealthier Theophilitzes, who “had a great interest in well-born, good-looking, well-built men who were very masculine and strong”, according to the chronicler Theophanes Continuatus. While on a trip to Greece with Theophilitzes, Basil met another young man named Ioannes, and was so beloved by him that Ioannes’ mother, a wealthy widow named Danelis, showered him with gifts.

Basil returned to Constantinople, and while hanging out at church one day, he happened to catch the eye of the Emperor Michael III himself. Michael got a good look at him, decided he needed some of that in his life, and went straight to the abbot and “asked if this young man might be given to him.” Basil moved into the palace with Michael, where he impressed everyone with his skills at taming horses and also his talent for stripping his clothes off, oiling himself up, and then wrestling with other oily, tanned, half-naked men.

Basil, Michael, Eudokia Ingerine, and Michael’s sister Thekla began living together in a big happy foursome. Since he was unable to marry Eudokia Ingerine because he was still shackled to Eudokia Dekapolitissa, Michael had Basil marry her. Eudokia gave birth to three sons, the paternities of whom are very questionable 3. Michael and Basil also bonded by murdering the *caesar *Bardas together. Ah, romance.

But in a twist worthy of the trashiest telenovela, Michael had a wandering eye and Basil was the jealous type. Basil caught a nobleman named Basiliskianos flirting with Michael, and became worried when Michael invited Basiliskianos to his place to try on the imperial shoes 4.

In September 867, Basil and Eudokia got Michael roaring drunk at dinner, and Basil tampered with the lock on Michael’s door so that it wouldn’t work. Then Basil, joined by his brothers Bardas and Marianos, burst into Michael’s bedroom and murdered the hell out of him. Michael became the only Byzantine emperor to be assassinated by his gay lover over shoes. Eudokia Ingerine, who was then heavily pregnant with her third son Stephen, came immediately to be crowned empress 5.

Things didn’t go altogether smooth. Eudokia Ingerine had an affair with a dude named Niketas Xylinites, who Basil forced to become a monk in revenge. Basil’s beloved eldest son and heir, Konstantinos 6 died in 879 and Basil went half-insane with grief. This left the second son, Leo, who Basil despised, as heir. Leo was bookish, willful, and had a girlfriend, Zoe Zautzaina, that Basil disapproved of. When Leo refused to get rid of Zoe, Basil snatched him up by the hair, dashed him to the floor, and beat him bloody.

When Basil found Leo carrying a knife on him in 883, he had him locked in a room of the palace for the next three years and considered having him blinded. Leo was saved when Basil was suddenly killed in the world’s most suspicious hunting accident 7 in 886. His successor Leo VI became the only Byzantine emperor who may have been fathered by not one, but two other Byzantine emperors. The mind boggles.

But above all, I want you to remember these remarkable facts: In just a few short years Basil had gone from a country bumpkin to a kept man to the ruler of the Byzantine Empire.

So here’s to you, Emperor Basil I, you remarkable slut.

Footnotes:

1. Kinda like how John Byrne retconned Spider-man’s origins.
2. Her father, Inger, was a Varangian in the emperor’s service, and her mother a Greek court lady.
3. Eudokia may not have known. The sons were Konstantinos (born about 865), Leo (born 866), and Stephen (born 867). A fourth son, Alexander, was born in 870 and was the only one who was without a doubt fathered by Basil.
4. Is ‘trying on the imperial shoes’ a euphemism for something?
5. The other Eudokia was packed off back to her parents.
6. His mother was Eudokia Ingerine, although some historians have invented a fictious first wife for Basil and assigned Konstantinos to her. There is no indication in the sources that Konstantinos’ mother was anyone other than Eudokia, which also means that his paternity was doubtful. This makes Basil’s hatred for Leo and Stephen all the more bizarre and creepy.
7. The only witness to Basil being killed by a stag was Stylianos Zautzes, the father of Leo’s honey Zoe.

[Sailboat]

@Mississippienne

4. Is ‘trying on the imperial shoes’ a euphemism for something?

Well, the whole story is full of heels.

[Mr.Excellent]

Mississippienne, I’m greatly enjoying your posts. A question on Basil I, though: How well-documented is the whole “slept to the top” thing? I ask only because (as I’m sure you know) that was a common barb hurled at both men and women in antiquity. What was the joke about Caesar? “Every woman’s man, and every man’s woman,” I believe.

[Bosda_Di_Chi_of_Tricor]

No time for a charming lady like Elizabeth Bathory?

Well, “charming” within certain definitions of “charming”, anyway…

[Der_Trihs]

@Bosda_Di_Chi_of_Tricor

No time for a charming lady like Elizabeth Bathory?

Possibly too well known for the “unfairly obscure” standard.

[Inner_Stickler]

Erzsébet Báthory and Elizabeth Bathory refer to the same person. The latter name is simply an anglicisation.

[Shirley_Ujest]

Do you have a blog dedicated to this loveliness? If not, you really need to get one. I’ll even learn how to subscribe and stuff.

I LOVE THIS sooooo much.

[Maeglin]

@Tranquilis

It works for subject other than history, too… My father learned latin by means of Procopius of Caesarea’s “The Secret History.” Nothing some good old (really old) fashioned pr0n to get the students interested!

That must have been tough to do, since the Secret History is written in Greek, not Latin.

[Nava]

Next time the Goth kings of Spain There are entries on a couple of the ladies (term used in its widest possible definition) in a book of minibiographies my mother has… running into those sort of made me regret that we didn’t even get the GKs mentioned in class! Then again, when my parents did, it was just a matter of memorizing and reciting their list, not learning which queen had had incestuous relationships with half her male relatives. A pity.

[Malthus]

@Der_Trihs

Possibly too well known for the “unfairly obscure” standard.

Also not really “medieval”. Too late and too famous!