CHAPTER V.

THE ALBIGENSIAN CRUSADE.

MURET AND ITS SEQUEL.

We have seen that everyone, except perhaps de Montfort himself,

expected to see the Crusade annihilated. The event proved them wrong.

It is fair, therefore, to speak of the rest of the war and the final

surrender of the house of Toulouse as the sequel to the amazing

action of Muret. For although that final surrender was postponed

sixteen years, without Muret there would have been no surrender at

all.

Besides its immense result, the campaign of 1213 culminating in the

battle of Muret, is interesting as one of the very few conflicts

between men of European stock in which a small force has broken and

destroyed a force many times larger than itself. That the men of the

time realized both the importance and the extraordinary nature of the

action is proved by the abundance of record concerning it. Despite

this fact, no student of mediæval war will be surprised to learn that

the reconstruction of the battle itself remains difficult. It is

strange, however, that the evidence as to Pedro’s line of march is

almost altogether lacking.

It seems fairly certain that the Aragonese concentrated at Lerida.

They could not have marched by the great coast road of the Romans,

from Barcelona via Perpignan (a town of Pedro’s) to Narbonne, and

then west by Carcassonne on Toulouse, inasmuch as de Montfort

strongly held the Carcassonne country. Therefore, to march by this,

the natural low-grade route of peace-time, would have exposed the

King to the probability of having to fight before his junction with

his Languedocian allies. Eliminating the main coast road, there

remain two possibilities, the Somport and the Cerdagne, and between

them there seems to be no direct evidence whatsoever. To move by

Huesca, Jaca, the Somport, and so into friendly Bearn by Oloron,

would have put it out of de Montfort’s power to harass the march.

A phrase in Vaissete, repeated by Luchaire, to the effect that the

king “entered Gascony” appears to tell in favour of the Somport

hypothesis. So does the fact that the Aragonese entered Toulouse

before moving on Muret. Had he moved by the Cerdagne, Muret would

have been directly on his line of march to Toulouse. Nevertheless,

the probabilities seem to tell in favour of the Cerdagne. In the

first place, Belloc states that the Somport was disused (except

locally we may imagine) after “... the new civilization of the Middle

Ages had set in with the twelfth century....” The southern side of

the Somport, which the army would have had to mount, is excessively

steep. Moreover, the bulk of Pedro’s army, as we have already seen,

was not Aragonese but anti-clerical Catalan. For the Catalans, the

Cerdagne was by far the shortest line into Languedoc.

To move by the Somport would have compelled them to an enormous

detour, and, as matters stood, speed was all-important. Their

commander could not long keep up any shred of pretence that he had

the Pope’s approval of his actions, and must therefore make haste.

The choice of Lerida as the point of concentration tells in favour of

the Cerdagne. Had the Aragonese intended to move by the Somport, a

concentration at Huesca or even at Jaca would have been more natural.

Moreover, there is no great difficulty in assuming the Cerdagne

route, by the upper Segre to Puigcerda, the Puymorens Pass, and the

upper Ariege on Foix. The whole of the upper Tet basin and also the

head waters of the Aude were in Roussillon, which was Aragonese land.

It would have been virtually impossible for de Montfort, even were

he warned in time, to march from the Middle Aude country through

hostile territory by Axat, Mont-Louis, and Saillagouse to cut in on

the right of the Aragonese column. The forces in being, and friendly

to Pedro, in Languedoc put such a move out of all reason. Further on,

when Aragon had joined Foix, de Montfort had a garrison at Pamiers,

which might harass the flank of their column moving northward.

Still, Pamiers could have been avoided by going from Foix west on

St. Girons and the upper Garonne valley, and, in any event, Aragon

and Foix were in great force, and marching to the large and friendly

city of Toulouse, so that, granted any kind of reasonable care for

security on the march, there was little to fear from the Pamiers

garrison. It would seem, therefore, as if the weight of probability,

slight as it is, tells in favour of Pedro’s having marched by the

Cerdagne.

Whatever his line of march, the Aragonese effected a junction with

his allies, and together they sat down before Muret on September 10.

The place was held for de Montfort by a garrison of thirty knights

and seven hundred poorly armed infantry. The Languedocian barons were

in high spirits. A small garrison of de Montfort’s in Pujols, eight

and three-quarter miles east-south-east of Toulouse, had been cut

off and massacred. The militia infantry of the commune of Toulouse

were available for the attack on Muret, for the garrison of that town

threatened Toulouse closely on the south-west as Lavaur did on the

north-east. The choice of objective was wise, inasmuch as it made

the militia available, as well as for the main reason: that is the

importance of disengaging Toulouse (the Languedocian base) from the

nearest Montfortist garrison.

By contrast with the vagueness of our knowledge of Pedro’s movements,

those of de Montfort are known in detail. The crusading leader lay

at Fanjeaux with a small force including thirty knights. Then as

now, the early summer saw the high-water mark of the French energy,

and by September the greater part of the forty-day Crusaders of that

year had turned homeward. Although we know (from the interception

of a private letter of Pedro’s) that de Montfort had some sort of

intelligence service at work, nevertheless, his information seems

to have been defective, so that he was surprised by Pedro’s move,

perhaps because of its speed. When word came that the Aragonese was

in Languedoc in arms, de Montfort at once sent his wife, the Countess

Alice, to overtake certain temporary Crusaders who had just started

homeward and, if possible, persuade them to return. The energetic

countess made such haste that she gathered up at Carcassonne several

hundred of the departing Crusaders, including the Viscount of Corbeil

and that William des Barres who had commanded a “battle” (i.e.,

unit) under Cœur de Lion in the Third Crusade, including the bloody

repulse of Saladin at Arsouf twenty-two years before. Even when

these reinforcements had come in, de Montfort’s mobile force was

small. He had about two hundred and sixty knights, and six hundred

“sergeants,” that is cavalrymen heavily armed like knights but not

of noble blood. King Pedro and the southern lords were known to be

in great force. Most mediæval commanders, when gravely inferior in

numbers, were accustomed to decline battle from behind walls, but

Simon was an extraordinary man, and, moreover, he was driven by

political necessity. Only the terror of his name made it possible for

his small forces to hold down his thousands of unwilling southern

subjects. To lose a strong place like the Castle of Muret might prove

fatal to his prestige and be the signal for a general insurrection.

Furthermore, he had not only boundless faith in his cause, but also

a hearty contempt for the King of Aragon as an opponent. He knew

that the Aragonese and the Languedocians were not accustomed to

acting together, and would therefore have difficulty in deploying for

action, especially if suddenly attacked. He therefore decided to take

the field.

His decision made, on September 9 (as Pedro and the southern lords

were marching on Muret, but before news of the move had come in)

de Montfort moved west from Fanjeaux on Saverdun, making a slight

detour to the Cistercian Abbey of Boulbonne, near Mazeres. There

he dedicated his sword, laying it for a time on the altar while he

prayed. When the sacristan of the abbey asked him in wonder why with

his handful of men he was attacking so famous a chieftain as the

Aragonese, Count Simon drew from his pouch an intercepted letter from

Pedro to a mistress of his, the wife of a Languedocian baron, in

which the King had written that it was for her sweet sake that he was

fighting to drive out the “French.” “I do not fear this king,” said

de Montfort, “who opposes the work of God for the sake of a harlot.”

Already he was expecting an attack on Muret, the most exposed of his

garrisons. During the hot afternoon, couriers, who had ridden that

day upwards of twenty miles from Muret, brought word that the place

was attacked. The little crusading army pushed on, reaching Saverdun

at nightfall. Here a council of war was held, at which de Montfort

was for pushing on that night to Muret, which was ill provisioned,

but yielded to the opinion of the clergy with him, who urged that

the men and horses were fatigued from marching some 35 miles in

forty-eight hours, on top of the 17 miles that de Corbeil and des

Barres had already done from Carcassonne to Fanjeaux.

No less than seven bishops, Fulk of Toulouse, Arnold of Nismes,

Bernard of Beziers, Raymond of Agde and Peter of Comminges (together

with the future St. Dominic) were present, an imposing array with

which it was doubtless hoped to impress King Pedro. On the morning

of Wednesday the eleventh, de Montfort confessed, and made his will,

directing that it be sent to Rome for confirmation in case of his

death. Mass was said, and the Counts of Toulouse, Foix, and Comminges

were again formally excommunicated, together with the Toulousains

and all who might oppose the Crusade. Significantly, the King of

Aragon was not mentioned by name, and to him Bishop Fulk despatched

a mounted courier asking safe conduct for the clergy who were with

de Montfort in order that peace might be made. Having crossed the

Ariege at Saverdun, the little army moved north up the left bank of

that river. About ten miles on their way, at Hauterive, the courier

sent to Pedro returned with the refusal of all that Bishop Fulk had

asked. Along the twelve miles between Hauterive and Muret, the march

was delayed by marshy country which had been made more difficult

by recent rains. Fierce Languedocian summer showers drenched the

advancing column, one being so severe as to drive many men to shelter

in a little wayside church which their leader had entered to pray.

When the shower had passed the advance was resumed, and towards

evening the massive red brick ramparts of Muret came in sight. No

enemy had been seen during the day, but now, in full view of the

enemy so that their own numbers could be closely estimated, the

Crusaders crossed the bridge over the Garonne and entered the place

unopposed. The lack of opposition surprised de Montfort, Antony says.

Under mediæval conditions, Muret was naturally strong. The general

shape of the town is a right triangle with a short base. The Garonne

flows north-east along the perpendicular of the triangle; the winding

Louge flows in a general direction east along the hypotenuse and

falls into the Garonne at the apex of the triangle where the castle

then stood. Adjoining the castle was the old town or “bourg.” The new

town or “ville” occupied the space between the “bourg” and the base

of the triangle. The road from Toulouse crossed the Louge on a bridge

and entered the “ville” by the Toulouse Gate which was pierced in the

wall of the northern hypotenuse side near the north-west corner. The

Sales Gate opened through the wall of the base near the right angle.

On the eastern side, a roadway ran along the Garonne bank under the

wall from the south corner of the town past the bridge over the

Garonne to the bridge of St. Sernin, which crossed the mouth of the

Louge under the walls of the castle, at the apex of the triangle. At

the right angle, i.e., the south corner of the town, an outwork or

chatelet protected the Sales Gate and the entrance leading to the

road along the Garonne bank. The defences of the castle were strong,

those of the “bourg” less so, and those of the “ville” were weak.

The Garonne at Muret is unfordable, about a hundred and fifty yards

wide, and flows rapidly between steep banks averaging over thirty

feet high and nearly forty feet just below the mouth of the Louge.

The Louge is a good sized brook between fifteen and twenty-five

feet across; fordable in all seasons, except just at its mouth,

but a first-class military obstacle because of the height and

steepness of its banks, nearly forty feet, as we have seen, at its

mouth, and over fifteen just above the town. Half a mile up, its

banks are low and gentle and it is no obstacle at all. From a point

about three-quarters of a mile west of the town a low ridge runs a

little east of north. This ridge (called near the town “the Hill of

Perramon”) is not over fifty feet high and of a very easy slope.

Between it and the Garonne the ground is quite flat. About a mile

north of the town lies a slight marshy depression called in the local

dialect “Les Pesquies,” i.e., the fish-pond or fishery, and from this

patch of swamp a tiny rivulet runs east to the Garonne, between banks

all of ten feet high and fully thirty degrees in slope at the top—an

obstacle impossible for charging cavalry.

Pedro, Raymond, Foix and Comminges had made camp on the hill of

Perramon. Under cover of the fire of six mangonnels (i.e. catapults)

they had promptly attacked the walls in the neighbourhood of the

Toulouse Gate, forced the defences of the “ville” and driven the

garrison of thirty knights and seven hundred poorly armed infantry

into the bourg and the castle. The assault seems to have been the

work of the Toulousain militia infantry, the knights and Catalans

disdaining siege work. No sooner was the “ville” occupied than word

came of de Montfort’s approach. Thereupon Pedro, in high glee,

ordered a retirement outside the walls, reckoning that if the

Crusaders would only enter the place they would be caught in a trap.

The place could then be besieged on all sides and the war finished at

one blow. Hence the unopposed entry which surprised de Montfort.

The allies spent the early hours of the evening in consultation.

Raymond proposed to entrench the camp so as to secure it against a

cavalry charge, and give to the defenders the opportunity to shoot

at the Crusaders without fear of being ridden down. Such tactics had

at least enabled the Toulousain to bring off his army safely from

the unsuccessful siege of Castelnaudary two years before. To the

sporting instincts of Pedro, however, this seemed mere cowardice, and

he not only rejected it but allowed one of his barons bitterly to

taunt Raymond for having made the suggestion. The idea was dropped.

Raymond was so completely in Pedro’s power that we do not even hear

of his resenting the insult offered him. Two monks now appeared, sent

by Bishop Fulk of Toulouse to treat either with the Aragonese, or

with his own Toulousain flock. The Toulousains promised an answer and

detained the monks. This matter disposed of, Pedro began a night of

revelry. Many of the barons of Languedoc, who were completely in his

power, had put their wives and daughters at his disposition, and he

debauched himself so strenuously that at mass, in the morning (so his

own son writes), he was so exhausted that he could scarcely stand for

the reading of the gospel.

Even had he thought of the military position seriously, the King

had no reason to hurry matters. All his own troops had not yet

joined, and in all probability he knew of the shortage of provisions

in Muret, which must soon sap the strength of his opponents. That

de Montfort would lead his little band to the attack never entered

Pedro’s head.

De Montfort, on the other hand, saw clearly that he himself must

attack. The same political necessity that had drawn him to Muret made

a quick success desirable; the shortage of food in the town made

it imperative. He had had four years in which to estimate Pedro,

and must have felt reasonably certain that the sportsman king would

conduct operations haphazard. His own great inferiority in numbers

might be neutralized if he could effect a partial surprise. Possibly

he had this in mind when, on the morning of the 11th, he ordered

that the Toulouse Gate, which had been forced on the previous day,

should be neither closed nor barricaded. The enemy might be tempted

to attack it again and be thereby prevented from giving their whole

attention to the proposed countermove. Possibly it was the bishops

who wished to show that they did not consider diplomatic relations

broken off. The ruse, if ruse it was, succeeded. The savage Count

of Foix and certain Catalans charged mounted into the town by the

open gate, but were driven out by the Crusaders, under Count Simon

himself. He had seven hundred infantry, and even mediocre infantry

(provided they kept their heads at all) had the advantage of mounted

men cooped in the narrow and winding streets of a mediæval town.

The unsuccessful attack served the further purpose, of forcing the

consent of the clergy to the rash plan, as they considered it, of a

sortie. Bishop Fulk, nothing daunted when the Toulousains sent back

his two monks with the message they could do nothing with King Pedro,

had intended to go barefoot at the head of the clergy present, to beg

peace in the very camp of the besiegers.

Now de Montfort, heated with directing the repulse of Foix and the

Catalans, strode into the priory and demanded permission to sally

out and fight. Meanwhile the southerners, in preparation for a new

attack, began a heavy fire of all sorts of projectiles. When missiles

began to fall upon the priory roof over their heads, the clergy

abandoned all idea of negotiating and gave Count Simon leave to

attack.

This permission granted, the crusading leader, who was on foot, made

for the castle where he had left his horse. On his way he entered

St. Sernin, where the Bishop of Usez was saying mass, and prostrated

himself before the altar. As he rose, the supporting strap of one of

his chainmail leg-pieces broke, but, quite neglecting the evil omen,

he merely had it replaced and continued on his way. His horse had

been brought out to him on the high castle terrace, but, as he tried

to mount, two more discouraging portents took place. First the saddle

girth broke. He calmly had it repaired and again put his foot in the

stirrup. Just as he swung into the saddle, the horse jerked up his

head and struck him on the forehead so that, for a moment, he was

stunned. Some Toulousains, posted in observation north of the Louge,

raised a mocking yell to which he defiantly shouted back, “You mock

me now, but I trust in the Lord and I hope right well to cry after

you this day as far as the gates of Toulouse.”

We may fairly assume that the Toulousains were out of easy

bowshot—say a hundred and fifty yards off. Their gestures could

therefore be seen and their mocking cries heard, whereas Count

Simon’s exact words could not come to them clearly: had they been

understood they might have jeopardized his intended surprise.

Mounted at last, Count Simon rode down to the Ville and formed his

nine hundred horsemen on the spacious market-place, the “mercadar”

making three squadrons or “battles” each, we may safely assume,

of about three hundred, i.e., one hundred knights and two hundred

sergeants. The first displayed all the banners of the host, so as

to concentrate the enemies’ attention upon it. It was commanded by

William d’Encontre, accompanied by de Montfort’s half brother, the

veteran William des Barres. The second was under Bouchard de Marly

and included a handful of knights who had sworn an oath to kill King

Pedro. De Montfort himself commanded the third. When formed, he

addressed them and explained the proposed manœuvre, stressing the

need to file out by a gate not closely observed by the enemy, so

that, while deploying, their horses should not be exposed to missile

weapons: the men themselves would have nothing to fear thanks to

their chainmail armor with its quilted lining. His orders were to

charge and fight as a unit and on no account to break ranks in order

to attempt some individual feat of arms.

Finally, before moving out, they were solemnly blessed by the

bishops. Early that morning mass had been said, and all the soldiers

who had not previously done so had made their confessions and

received the Host. Fulk, in his mitre and vestments, held out a

fragment of the true cross for each man, in turn, to dismount and

kiss it.

This ceremony, of course, dragged so that the enthusiasm of the

troops began to suffer until Bishop Peter of Comminges, with a more

practical spirit than his brother of Toulouse, cut matters short by

gently taking the relic into his own hands and held it up in sight of

all present, promising to those who should fall the glory of martyrs

and the remission of purgatory. Afterwards, when the little column

had moved off, the clergy made for the church, and throughout the

engagement continued to implore the throne of grace in behalf of the

Christian arms with such fervor that “... they might be said to have

howled rather than prayed.”

It is impossible to establish the numbers of the force which the

Crusaders were about to attack. Pedro had mobilized a thousand

knights, all of whom had not yet come in, but the number of his

“sergeants” we do know. There are no figures as to the men brought by

the Languedocian nobles, although we do know that two years before at

Castlenaudary, their forces had heavily outnumbered de Montfort at a

time when Pedro was not in the field. The calculations of different

authorities vary widely. In cavalry alone, the Crusaders were

certainly outnumbered at least four to one.

The southern infantry strength, including both feudal infantry and

communal militia, has been estimated at forty thousand. No figures

seem to exist for the Toulousain militia, but they were undoubtedly

in considerable force. On the other hand, the morale of the allies

was below the superb morale of the Crusaders; and there was friction

between Languedocians and Spaniards, as we have seen.

The reconstruction of a mediæval battle is a matter of the greatest

difficulty, as every scholar knows who has attempted such a task.

Even when (as in the present case) half a dozen contemporary accounts

are at hand, nothing approaching a technical description of the

action is to be found in them. Occasionally, as in the chronicle of

Jaime of Aragon, which enumerates the different errors committed

by the troops under his father, we get a flash of true military

appreciation, but never more than a flash. Irrelevant but picturesque

incidents, such as the series of mishaps suffered by de Montfort in

mounting, are dwelt upon, while the fundamental points of an action

are left vague.

The historian is therefore compelled to test his authorities by

minute study of the terrain, by an examination of local tradition,

and by all he has of common sense combined with military judgment.

With respect to this matter of military judgment yet one more

difficulty appears, i.e., our complete ignorance of mediæval minor

tactics. In most other respects, our ignorance is qualified. We know

that our European ancestors of seven and eight hundred years ago

could and did move large armies from France to Palestine, both by

land and overseas. Therefore we are compelled to credit them with a

considerable degree of discipline and an effective commissariat and

intelligence service; to deny such obvious conclusions is merely

to make a fool of oneself. We are well informed concerning their

fortifications and siege work, which played so important a part in

their wars. But as to the details of their tactical formations and

especially as to the regularity of those formations we know nothing

at all. Hence it is possible for highly educated veteran soldiers of

to-day to argue that there was, for instance, no generally understood

and practised method of passing from column to line and back again!

Accordingly it is not surprising to find that scholars disagree

fundamentally over the Battle of Muret, and that no full

reconstruction seems possible.

Nevertheless, after comparing all the evidence now available, an

accurate outline of the action can be fixed. This I shall now attempt.

The Crusaders went out by the Sales Gate. The evidence seems to

show that they traversed the chatelet or outwork, and left the

fortifications by the eastern gate through which they had entered

the town. They then followed the road between the eastern wall and

the river, marching all the time with the least possible noise as to

avoid attracting attention. Evidently the first part of the movement

(i.e., the passage through the outwork) was a feint at retreat

deliberately shown to the enemy in order to mislead him, and the

second (the march along the river bank) a concealed move, in order

to obtain the effect of surprise. The column followed the route by

which they had come until the bridge over the Garonne was reached.

Then, instead of turning to the right and crossing it, they went

straight ahead, passed under the walls of the castle, and (still

unobserved by the enemy) crossed the St. Sernin bridge at the mouth

of the Louge. As soon as the first squadron had crossed, it deployed

to the left and charged down upon those of the enemy (i.e., part of

the Toulousain militia reinforced by certain Catalan knights, under

the Count of Foix) who had that morning unsuccessfully attacked the

Toulouse Gate. William d’Encontre and William des Barres surprised

them completely, and scattered them in a few moments, “like dust

before a gale.”

The technical phases of this part of the action seem never to

have been considered by historians. Inasmuch are they are of some

interest in themselves, and furthermore, shed light upon the flagrant

indiscipline in the southern army, they are worth a moment’s

consideration.

The known elements of the problem are these: first the undisputed

facts that the surprise was complete and that the successful charge

was made only by some three hundred horsemen; second, the weight of

evidence in favour of the route just described as that of the sortie.

The time element involved remains to be computed. The full distance

from the Sales Gate, past the town, over the bridge, and up the

abrupt ramp leading to the plain, is nearly 700 yards. From the

numerous mediæval gates extant, together with the extant brick

remains of the northern abutment of the bridge in question, we may

be certain that the formation was a column of twos. We may be almost

equally certain that the gait was a walk, for (in the first place) it

would have been nearly impossible to trot up the final steep ramp,

(secondly) silence was desired, and (thirdly) to trot through such a

long narrow space would have exposed the cavalry to the risk of a

serious snarl in case a single horse fell or behaved badly—_in which

case the whole operation would have been compromised_. Assuming the

gait to have been a walk, we are entitled to reduce the distance

occupied by each horse to three yards, leaving a bare one foot

between nose and crupper. The length of the entire column must

therefore have been at least 450 × 3 = 1,350 yards, nearly double

the distance to be traversed, and the length of each squadron must

have been 450 yards. Before falling out to eat and drink, we may be

sure that the Toulousains and Catalans must have retreated at least

150 yards north of the Toulouse Gate in order that so large a target

as they would present might be out of long bowshot. Therefore the

head of the crusading column would come into full sight practically

as soon as it topped the ramp and gained the plain, and historians

who assume that the deployment could have been made out of sight of

the Toulousains and Catalans have simply never troubled to walk over

the battlefield. Assuming a walking gait to be four miles per hour,

i.e., 117 yards per minute, the rear of the first crusading squadron

would be in the plain almost exactly four minutes after the van had

come in sight of the enemy in front of the Toulouse Gate. The greater

part of the 600 yards separating the Crusaders from the enemy would

almost certainly be covered at a trot of say eight miles an hour,

before breaking into a gallop for the final shock. Two minutes, plus

the time necessary for deployment, must therefore be added to the

original four. In all, nearly ten minutes must have elapsed between

the first observation of the Crusaders by Foix’s command and the

delivery of the crusading charge.

Inasmuch as Foix’s men far outnumbered the first crusading squadron,

the fact that they were unable (when their seven minutes’ grace was

up) to make even a few moments effective resistance shows their

discipline to have been wretched. We know that they had committed the

imprudence of falling out to eat and drink, that most of the Catalan

knights had put off their armour, and that no proper measures of

security had been taken. Nevertheless, it seems that the Crusaders

should at least have been delayed a few moments. Not one of Foix’s

Catalan knights was killed!

Meanwhile, the main body of the besiegers was getting to horse,

crying “Aragon,” “Foix,” or “Comminges,” according to their

allegiance. The Spaniards formed, but the formation was ragged. In

part this may have been due to haste, although they must have had

over twenty minutes in which to get in line, assuming a minimum of

ten minutes from the disclosure of the operation to the deployment

of the second crusading squadron, and an additional minimum of

ten minutes for the second squadron to catch up with the first

and for the two together to do the mile which separated them from

Pedro’s people. In part it certainly resulted from the folly and

indiscipline of the Spanish knights; every important man among

them (so Pedro’s son King Jaime tells us) wanted to fight his own

battle with the enemy, making strict alignment and combined action

impossible. Furthermore, as we learn from other chronicles, Pedro

himself exercised no effective command, but yielded to his chivalric

enthusiasm by exchanging armour with one of his knights and posting

himself in the front ranks—a piece of generous but unmilitary folly

surprising in a soldier of his considerable experience since it lost

him all control over his forces in reserve. The Aragonese were facing

south astride the Seysses road about a mile out from Muret, with the

Pesquies marsh covering their left.

Having broken Foix’s command, the first crusading squadron had to

wheel half right in order to strike Pedro. By spurring hard, the

second, with a straighter course to follow, was able to catch up, and

both together went at the Aragonese, sweeping before them some of

Foix’s routed horsemen. Count Simon’s orders on no account to engage

in individual jousting but to charge boot to boot were so well obeyed

that the shock was simultaneous all along their line. It was so

violent that the Crusaders plunged into the horsemen opposed to them

“like a stone dropped into the water.” Pedro’s people stood firm and

closed round them, hiding them from the third “battle,” and the melée

swayed back and forth with a din “as of countless axemen hewing down

a forest.”

De Montfort, with the idea of charging in on Pedro’s left, worked

rapidly north and east around the marsh until he found himself

blocked by Pesquies ravine, which the chroniclers describe as a

“fossatum” (i.e., a ditch or trench). Cut in the steep banks of

this obstacle was a narrow path, blocked at the farther end by a

strong Aragonese combat patrol or covering detachment. Such covering

detachments were familiar enough, as we learn from the “Siete

Partidas” of Alfonzo the Wise of Castile, written about 1260, in

which they are called alas or citaras. If it be objected that Pedro

was in no mood to think of such details as posting this detachment,

we may fairly imagine some grizzled knight of Aragon who knew enough

to take on the job by himself with his own immediate followers.

To go from line to column and try to force the narrow path in the

face of opposition was a bad business, but de Montfort had no choice.

Time was passing, he had the marsh on his left and the ravine

stretching away on his right. At the head of his men he crossed the

ravine and set his horse to scramble up the farther bank. In this

unfavourable position, as he struggled to protect himself from the

blows he could not yet hope to return, he broke his left stirrup

leather—the third time one part or another of his equipment had

played him false that day. With great dexterity he kept his seat and,

reaching the summit of the bank, unhorsed the nearest enemy with a

blow of the fist to the jaw—the Spaniard must have been wearing not a

closed pot-helm but an open-faced steel cap. This man seems to have

been the detachment commander, for when his followers saw him fall

they broke up and fled on the instant. Their flight exposed to Count

Simon the left flank of the Aragonese main body. He got his three

hundred across, deployed them, and charged.

All this time the first two crusading squadrons had been fighting

hard. Although their close formation and the fury of their charge had

carried them deep into the ranks of their enemies, still these last

had not broken, but closed in around them. Strict order and alignment

had gone and the fighting was man to man. The knight who had taken

the part of Pedro could not equal his master’s prowess, and Pedro

himself forgot caution, and cried out: “I am the King.” Whereupon

those who had sworn to have his life closed around him and killed

him, despite his valor and his skill in arms.

Whether the King fell before or after de Montfort’s charge is

uncertain—those who killed him were with the second crusading

squadron. In either case his fall and the flank charge decided the

day, and a general rout ensued. The 500 knights of his household,

unsupported by the rest of the leaderless mass of horsemen, fell

almost to a man around his body. The southerners paid a bitter price

for Pedro’s chivalrous folly in jamming himself into the fighting

and thereby giving up all attempt to direct operations. Raymond and

the Count of Comminges seem never to have been engaged at all. We

hear of them only as fleeing from the field. Count Simon, on the

other hand, was as wise in victory as he had been furious in attack.

While directing or, more probably, permitting the pursuit of the

fugitives by his first two squadrons, he kept the third squadron

(his own immediate command) well under control, and followed the

pursuit at a distance so as to intervene in case of a rally. After a

short pursuit, as soon as he judged that the fleeing enemy horsemen

were incapable of renewing the battle and were making for Toulouse,

he recalled the pursuers, and at the head of his three squadrons

returned towards Muret.

Meanwhile the Toulousain communal militia had altogether misconceived

the result of the cavalry action. Only a part of these troops had

taken part in Foix’s unsuccessful attack and subsequent rout at the

hands of the first crusading squadron; and of that part only those

north of the Louge had actually endured the crusading charge and the

rout. Those between the Louge and the Garonne had merely retreated,

hastily enough, no doubt, in order to conform to the flight of those

north of the brook. By far the greater part of them, therefore, were

quite fresh. At first they barricaded themselves in their camp,

fearing they would be attacked. But townsmen in mediæval warfare were

apt to suffer from rashness; one of many examples is the behaviour of

the Londoners at Lewes in 1264. It has been supposed that dust may

have hidden the cavalry flight from the Toulousains, or there may

have been clumps of trees to block their view. Knowing de Montfort to

be heavily outnumbered, they believed a rumour of his defeat, sallied

out from their camp and beset the town from all sides.

In Muret, Count Simon’s victory was already known by messenger.

Bishop Fulk, therefore, sent to tell his obstreperous flock of this,

and offered them mercy, but they would not believe, and wounded his

parlementaire. Startled at the sight of the Crusaders, returning

victorious, and about to fall upon the rear of their extended

formation, they broke up in a panic and were slaughtered far and

wide. Some made for the camp and were killed there, others ran for

the boats which had brought up their siege material and were now

anchored about a mile north of the town.

A few of these last escaped so, but most were butchered on the high

banks by de Montfort’s people.

In 1875 a flood of the Garonne undercut and brought down much of the

bank, revealing an immense mass of their bones opposite Saubens,

and about 700 yards upstream from that village. Other skeletons are

scattered about to the north of this spot; to this day they are

turned up sometimes by the spade and the plough.

Such are the true elements of the Battle of Muret.

The total losses of the vanquished were enormous, while the victors

lost only one knight and, at most, eight “sergeants”—a fully-armed

man in a position to defend himself was already in 1213 so completely

protected by his chainmail armor. Infantry normally accounted for

most mediæval battle casualties, and, of course, the dismounted and

wounded knights of the losing side could be massacred if the victors

so chose, as they emphatically did on this occasion.

On the other hand, de Montfort shed tears over Pedro’s dead

body—“like a second David over a second Saul.” The King had never

been excommunicated, accordingly his corpse was allowed burial in

consecrated ground at the hands of the Hospitallers, who asked

permission so to do.

Muret wiped out Aragon as a factor in Languedocian politics. Raymond,

with his son, later Count Raymond VII, fled the country and made

for the court of England. Apparently, one of his last acts was the

capture of his bastard brother Baldwin, who had gone over to de

Montfort, and was now surprised and taken prisoner. Raymond promptly

had him hanged. There was even a story that the Count of Foix himself

tied the noose. A few months earlier King John had done homage

to the Pope, and was now preparing, with Otto, to seek a military

decision against Philip Augustus, whose vassals he was corrupting

with might and main. He received Raymond kindly, and presented him

with 10,000 marks, but could give no other assistance until he had

settled accounts with the King of France. Raymond swore him homage,

and seems to have stayed in England for some months. Meanwhile

de Montfort triumphantly crossed the Rhône and mastered much of

Raymond’s “Marquisate of Provence” to the east of that river. Merely

to keep his hand in, he indulged in a small war in the county of

Foix. With Pedro dead, there was no one capable of taking the field

against the Crusade.

There were, however, three limitations to de Montfort’s success. The

first was military; his force was so small that he could not think

of doing anything against the city of Toulouse itself. The citizens

felt so safe that they began by offering only sixty of their number

as hostages to Bishop Fulk, instead of the two hundred which he

demanded, and when he accepted the offer of sixty they refused to

furnish any at all. De Montfort made a military demonstration up to

the walls, but when the gates were kept closed against him he did

not even attack. The second limitation was political, the Pope was

by no means prepared to set up an altogether new secular authority

in Languedoc, and was now determined to bring peace to that unhappy

country. The third was also political; the cities which had given him

a certain welcome as the maintainer of public order, now that order

was restored were restive at the continued presence of “Frenchmen,”

whom they heartily disliked.

The appointment of Cardinal Peter of Benevento as legate had been

the one concession made to Pedro in Innocent’s harsh letter of the

previous June which had pushed the unfortunate king into war. On

the arrival of the new legate it became ironically evident that if

the hot-headed Aragonese had been less hasty, he might have won

the game in peace and security. For Cardinal Peter, unlike all his

predecessors, began by following out the Pope’s policy and not

that of the party of violence. He held an audience at Narbonne, at

which the Counts of Foix and Comminges and a host of the smaller

dispossessed nobles were allowed to abuse de Montfort. Innocent had

given the cardinal-legate his orders in three bulls, dated January

20, 22, and 25, 1214. The first denied de Montfort’s claim to the

Viscounty of Nismes, pending an inquiry. The second permitted the

Count of Comminges and Viscount Gaston of Bearn, guilty as they

were, to be reconciled with the Church on their due and complete

submission. The third prescribed that the city of Toulouse should

also be reconciled, upon full submission, and should then be put

once more under the papal protection. De Montfort’s right to govern

the lands he had conquered was recognized, but only as “provisional

administrator” pending the decision of the Œcumenical Council, which

was to meet at the Lateran in 1215. Moreover, Innocent wrote to Count

Simon on January 22, commanding him to obey the legate and especially

to surrender the young King of Aragon, whom the crusading leader had

received as his ward at the Council of Narbonne three years before.

Should de Montfort refuse on some pretext, then, wrote Innocent in

his usual high tone, the legate was to carry out verbal orders which

had been given him—a threat all the more menacing from its vagueness!

In much the same terms the clergy of Languedoc were assured that the

Holy See proposed to show no pity to any who refused to obey the new

legate. The Pope was determined to call a halt, and Cardinal Peter

entered fully into the spirit of the orders given him.

All the guilty parties surrendered unconditionally. Raymond made act

of submission in April, turned over all his remaining dominions to

the legate and even included a promise to exile himself anywhere the

Pope might designate. On returning from England, he and his son lived

for some time in Toulouse, with their wives, as private persons.

Peace now seemed assured.

Thus checked, the indomitable de Montfort had another string to his

bow. As before he had played off the Languedocian clergy against the

Pope, so now he used the papal nuncio at the Court of France. This

man, Robert de Courcon by name, had been vigorously preaching the

Albigensian Crusade. While Peter of Benevento was temporarily absent

escorting Pedro’s son to Aragon and organizing the regency there, de

Courcon might fairly claim to be the principal representative of the

Pope in France. With the usual independence of mediæval agents at a

distance from their master, the nuncio at Paris proceeded to go clean

counter to that master’s wishes. In June he had a conference with de

Montfort at the latter’s camp, and in July he confirmed the leader of

the Crusade by a solemn charter in the possession of all the lands in

the Albigeois, the Agenais, Rouergue, and Quercy, already conquered

or to be conquered from heretics and favourers of heretics!

The Crusaders whom de Courcon had persuaded to take the field began

operations on their way south by capturing the castle of Maurillac

in Auvergne. Here for the first time we hear of the burning of

Waldensians, that is of heretics not obviously enemies to society.

After the fall of the place, seven of them refused to recant before

de Courcon and were accordingly burned ... “with immense rejoicings

by the soldiers of Christ.” The event is significant, and we shall

return to it.

The reinforcements thus brought in enabled de Montfort triumphantly

to promenade the Agenais, Rouergue, Quercy, and even the Perigord.

So great was his prestige that, in July, he married his son Amaury

to the heiress of Dauphiné. Meanwhile Philip Augustus broke Otto and

John of England on the decisive field of Bouvines so thoroughly,

that neither of them was afterwards a factor in the affairs of

Continental Europe. No wonder de Courcon, the papal nuncio at Paris,

was emboldened. For the first time the French monarchy was free to

take up the Albigensian business. On December 7 a courier from Rheims

arrived with letters from de Courcon calling a council of nobles and

high ecclesiastics of Languedoc to meet in Montpellier on January 8.

De Montfort’s party had decided to renew the sentence of deposition

passed upon Raymond by the Council of Lavaur, this time by a more

imposing body. Cardinal Peter of Benevento, on returning from Spain,

had to content himself with taking the presidency of this assembly

which was determined to go against the entire spirit of his actions.

The Council of Montpellier throws into high relief the sharp cleavage

of opinion in Languedoc. Montpellier was the most Catholic of the

southern cities. As has been seen in the last chapter, its lord had

been the first in the region to take official action against heresy.

The orthodoxy of the place had never been questioned. Nevertheless,

the popular feeling there was so bitter that de Montfort could not

even come within the walls to attend the meetings of the Council

for fear of being mobbed. He was forced to stay at the House of the

Templars, outside the walls, and there confer with those who came to

him. One day he did enter the town with his two sons and an escort

of a few knights, in answer to a special invitation from Cardinal

Peter. Whereupon the citizens moved at once, quietly armed themselves

and manned the gate by which he had entered and the street by which

he was expected to pass. Some even entered the Church of St. Mary

in which the Council sat. Count Simon, whose worst enemy had never

called him coward, was glad enough to be smuggled away through back

streets.

On the other hand, the Council itself was Montfortist to a man.

After legislating copiously on the reform of the clergy, the local

abuses in laying tolls, repression of heretics and those who should

favour them, &c., it decided unanimously to depose Raymond and set

de Montfort in his stead. Cardinal Peter, however, on the plea

that his instructions gave him no power to do so, refused to obey

the Council and hand over the parts of Raymond’s lands, especially

Toulouse and Montauban, which had surrendered to him as Innocent’s

representative and not to de Montfort. The decision, he truly said,

had been expressly reserved for the coming Lateran Council. Whereat

the Montpellier assembly promptly sent off the Archbishop of Embrun

to Rome to ask the Pope to recognize de Montfort as lord and even as

king (“dominum et monarchum”) over the lands of the heretics!

The castle of Foix and the citadel of Toulouse known as the “Château

Narbonaise” had received papal garrisons, the latter under the

command of Bishop Fulk. The dispossessed knights, known as “faidits,”

were given the privilege of moving freely about the country on

condition of going unarmed, with but one spur (!), mounted on

palfreys but not on war horses, and avoiding fortified places. Rome

showed no signs of relaxing her grip, but was unmistakably beginning

to show mercy and, above all, was refusing to support de Montfort in

the more ambitious of his designs.

With matters in this state, a new turn was given to the situation.

In April, 1215, Prince Louis, the heir of France, afterwards Louis

VIII, set out for Languedoc. If de Montfort seriously intended to

make himself a king, he must have feared the activities of the French

monarchy. In the slight correspondence between them, Paris had made

it quite clear that Count Simon was distinctly a vassal and agent of

the Capets. But it seems more probable that Simon preferred to govern

his unwilling southern subjects with the aid of the crown of France

and not in opposition to it. In any case, he went clear to Vienne

to meet Louis, who had mobilized his forces at the muster ground

of 1209 at Lyons, and welcomed the prince with every appearance of

joy. With Cardinal Peter it was very different. As representative of

Rome he had nothing to hope from Louis, inasmuch as all opposition

had ceased; and much to fear, as the prince might follow his father

Philip’s policy of vigorously asserting the independence of lay

authority in its own sphere by seizing on places like Toulouse and

Foix, which were governed by papal troops, and by disposing of them

in the name of the French crown.

However, it was soon seen that Louis by no means possessed his

father’s force of character and penetrating intellect. The young

prince had pleasing manners and personal courage, but was of a mild

nature, not physically robust, and in no way fitted to set the river

on fire. He promenaded Languedoc between de Montfort and Cardinal

Peter, visiting in his forty days St. Gilles, Montpellier, Beziers,

Narbonne, Carcassonne, Fanjeaux and Toulouse, and then went home

without having exchanged a blow or a high word with anyone.

But when he reported to his father, in the presence of the peers of

France, many of whom were Raymond’s kinsmen, as to de Montfort’s high

hand in the south, Philip Augustus broke up the Council and withdrew

to his private apartments saying, “I hope that before long Count de

Montfort and his brother Guy will die at their work, because their

quarrel is not just.”

Prince Louis’ peaceful pilgrimage produced two important results,

the destruction of the walls of Toulouse and Narbonne, and de

Montfort’s installation as “commendatory” lord of Toulouse and Foix.

It was the prestige of being accompanied by the heir of France which

directly enabled Count Simon to bring about the demolition of the

defences of the two strongest cities of Languedoc. In the case of

Narbonne, we do not know the reasons for the order, although it seems

reasonable to suppose that public opinion in the place, as in the

other neighbouring cities, was so bitter against the “French” that it

seemed wise to make it defenceless. Arnaut Amalric, now Archbishop

of Narbonne and claimant (in competition with de Montfort) to its

dukedom, protested but without effect. The Narbonese, as well as

the Toulousains, were forced to pull down their own walls, or (more

probably) to make breaches in them, for thorough demolition was

almost impossible to a time possessed of no means of destruction

except fire and human muscle.

Further, Prince Louis’ support of de Montfort contributed largely

to de Montfort’s assumption of temporary authority over Toulouse

and Foix, because it increased the crusading leader’s influence

with Cardinal Peter and thus helped to bring the new legate over

to the party of violence. Another influence, working to the same

end, was the considerable success of the Archbishop of Embrun, who

had been sent to Rome by the Council of Montpellier. He returned

with a papal bull crammed with praise of Count Simon, expressing

the hope that he would not weary in well-doing, and authorizing him

to hold, provisionally, the lands sequestrated by Cardinal Peter.

Since a mediæval “commendatory” enjoyed the revenue of the lands

he administered, the worst of de Montfort’s difficulties, his lack

of money, was over for the time being. Although he had no definite

possession of all he sought, still his prospects were of the best.

During the year Count Simon suffered but one check when, on July 2,

Innocent decided against him and in favour of Arnaut Amalric for the

Dukedom of Narbonne and announced his decision in a letter full of

severe rebuke. But what was that, compared with so many successes?

On November 11, the Lateran Council met. It was an impressive

assembly, including seventy-one patriarchs and metropolitans, four

hundred abbots and bishops, and a huge number of delegates holding

proxies for bishops who were unable to come. The Patriarch of

Jerusalem was there, and the Patriarch of Constantinople, as the

Greek Orthodox Church (for the first and last time since the ninth

century) was in full communion with Rome, owing to the occupation of

Constantinople by the short-lived “Latin Empire” which the iniquitous

fourth Crusade had planted there. According to the well-known laws

which govern human assemblies, this august body was impotent for

effective deliberation, and at the mercy of the manipulation of its

leaders, because of its great size. In general, its function was

not so much to make decisions but merely to register decisions made

before it had convened. In its three sessions, on November 11, 20 and

30, the Council passed all the decrees submitted to it, no less than

seventy in number, which had been resolved upon, as we should say, in

committee. Indeed, in every matter but the Albigensian, Pope Innocent

seems to have been in complete control.

On the three stock subjects of faith, Church organization, and

discipline, the Council affirmed transubstantiation, settled the

order of precedence of the Patriarchs in the order Constantinople,

Alexandria, Antioch, Jerusalem, required sacramental confession once

a year, and followed the usual mediæval practice of legislating

interminably against the irregularities of the clergy. Those in

orders were forbidden to act as surgeons, since operations cause the

shedding of blood. Trial by combat was forbidden. Trial by ordeal

was virtually abolished by forbidding any religious ceremonies in

connection with such trials, thus depriving them of all reason for

being, since they depended on religious sanction for their whole

moral force. Decrees were passed against “incontinence, drunkenness,

hunting, attendance at farces and stage plays,” on the part of the

clergy. Other decrees regularized the procedure and penalties against

heretics and their protectors, as we shall see in more detail in

the next chapter. In the political field, the Council confirmed the

election of Frederic II, son of Henry VI, as Holy Roman Emperor, and

attempted to decide the future of Languedoc.

Every principal actor in the Albigensian drama was present, except

de Montfort who was represented by his brother Guy. Arnaut Amalric,

Archbishop and Duke of Narbonne, Fulk and Guy, bishops, respectively,

of Toulouse and Carcassonne, and Theodisius now Bishop of Agde,

represented the Languedocian clergy. Over against them on the lay

side were the two Raymonds, the Count of Comminges, Count Raymond

Roger of Foix, the boldest and most energetic of them all, and a

minor noble, Bermond of Anduze, a son-in-law of Raymond’s, who

pretended to have rights over the Toulousain inheritance.

Two hearings of the matter in dispute have been reported to us. The

scene of the first was the court of the Lateran Palace, presumably

either of classic style, or showing the slim circular pillars,

delicate round arches and varicoloured stone inlay work of the

Cosmati school. Innocent presided, and with him were all the curia.

Raymond Roger of Foix, the centre of all eyes with his handsome

person and ruddy face, spoke first. He denied his own guilt and that

of Raymond of Toulouse. They had only defended themselves, he said,

against brigands come to rob them under a pretence of crusading. The

younger Raymond, so he maintained, had never even been accused of any

crime. He himself, upon Innocent’s express request, had handed over

the Castle of Foix, with its mighty ramparts, to Cardinal Peter. If

the place, now held by de Montfort, was not given back, then no faith

was to be put in solemn treaties. Fulk of Toulouse replied fiercely,

recalling Raymond Roger’s crimes, his persecution of the Church

and his protection of heresy, the Crusaders he had mutilated and

massacred. Raymond Roger replied more fiercely still. A Toulousain

knight sprang up, shouting that if they had known that so much

fuss would be made over mutilated Crusaders, then even more would

have lacked eyes and noses; at which those listening groaned and

murmured as a shocked audience will. The Count of Foix then attacked

Bishop Fulk. Not content with the lying songs and bitter satires he

had written as a troubadour, the Bishop of Toulouse, he said, had

caused more than five thousand deaths, including children, behaving

himself more like Antichrist than like a Roman legate. Innocent

mildly answered that Raymond Roger had stated his own case well, but

had “a little” understated the Church’s case against him. Last, a

representative spoke for the heir of Beziers and Carcassonne, son to

that Trencavel who had died in prison in 1209, claiming that as the

father had been assassinated by de Montfort and the Crusaders, the

Pope, to “save his own honour,” must return the viscounty to the son.

“Justice shall be done,” replied Innocent and retired to his private

apartments.

The scene now changed to Innocent’s garden, no doubt some sort of

formal garden with clipped plants, for the sure Italian taste changes

little. The Pope knew that the great majority of the Council was

dead against him with regard to Languedoc. Raymond Roger’s violence

had certainly not been calculated to attract wavering churchmen, if

any still wavered. But to Innocent that violence showed clearly as

the fruit of great wrongs inflicted in the name of the Church over

which he ruled, the Church which he passionately desired to have

prevail as the arbiter of right and the doer of justice. His sense

of his own personal honour, too, was as keen as any in that knightly

age. Therefore he was troubled and sought to put his trouble from

him among the growing things. Thither the Languedocian bishops, and

others of their opinion, pursued him. If Simon had the land, they

were saved, they said. If Raymond were returned to power, they and

the Church in Languedoc were ruined. At first Innocent resisted,

reminding them of the injustice of taking his lands from a Catholic

noble like Raymond, and saying that while de Montfort might keep

the lands taken from heretics, at least the rights of the widow and

orphan must be preserved. But they pressed upon him indignantly,

first Fulk speaking, then Theodisius, then the Archbishop of Auch,

insisting that such a settlement would give de Montfort nothing,

since the Pope held all three counts for Catholics; whereas de

Montfort deserved much. They themselves had preached against Raymond

as wicked and detestable, to restore him would be to disavow them

altogether. Everything must be given outright to de Montfort. Indeed,

they dared to say, it was impossible to take from him that which he

possessed, for they would be there to defend him. Still Innocent

held out. He reproached them with their cruelty, their refusal to

compromise, the savage sermons in which they had so far exceeded his

will. A few supported him, among them the Abbot of Beaulieu, who was

present as Ambassador from John of England, and (for a wonder) Arnaut

Amalric. That fierce old man had forced the Pope’s hand more than

once in de Montfort’s interest. Now, full of his quarrel with his

former friend, he told Innocent to take no one’s counsel but to go

his own way. Nevertheless, the voices raised in support of the Pope’s

opinion were so few that, at last, Innocent consented that Raymond

should be deposed and Simon be Count of Toulouse. The Council so

voted in a decree and went home, having legislated in the name of a

united Christian Europe, at the apex of the Church’s power.

Although beaten on the main point of Raymond’s deposition, Innocent

nevertheless continued to do what he could to limit de Montfort’s

triumph. It was said that he told Raymond that something would soon

be done for him. The younger Raymond, a high spirited and attractive

young man of eighteen, was entertained as the Pope’s guest in Rome

for some time after the Council adjourned. Even the terms of the

immediate settlement, which were published in a papal decree on

December 15, were by no means a blanket endorsement of de Montfort’s

ambitions. Raymond was assumed to have been found guilty of heresy

and of despoiling the Church. All that part of the Toulousain fief

held by the Crusaders was made over to de Montfort with the title

of Count of Toulouse. And yet, with the usual papal policy of

reservations, it was stipulated that the new settlement was not to

override the rights of any Catholic man or woman; which might well

have been made a ground, had Innocent lived, for Raymond’s return.

Besides this general reservation, there were four lesser specific

ones. De Montfort was to hold his dignities on condition of swearing

homage to his proper overlord, the King of France. Thus, if the

crusading leader had ever seriously hoped to make himself an

independent sovereign, the hope was denied him. Raymond’s wife was to

retain the lands of her dowry. Raymond himself, although condemned

to exile, was to have an annuity of 400 marks a year payable from

the revenues of his former possessions. Most important of all,

the younger Raymond was confirmed in possession of so much of the

Toulousain fief as was not in the hands of the Crusaders, that is to

say Nismes, Beaucaire, and the “Marquisate of Provence” to the east

of the Rhône. Finally, a papal letter of December 21 put in question

the legitimacy of the measures taken by de Montfort against Raymond

Roger of Foix, directing the Bishop of Nismes and the Archdeacon

of Conflans to take over the Castle of Foix and hold an inquest to

decide whether the place should be returned to its original owner,

which was later actually done.

Innocent’s letter reopening the matter of Foix was the great Pope’s

last recorded act in Languedoc. Six months later, too soon for him

to hear of the anti-French reaction there, he lay dead in Perugia,

in the full vigour of middle age, for he was not yet fifty-seven. He

had lived only for his passion to make the papacy and (through the

papacy) the Church, supreme; and he had raised the See of Peter to a

height of unquestioned power which it had never before, and has never

since, attained.

Shortly after the young Raymond’s departure from Rome, the two

Raymonds reappeared in the unconquered part of their diminished

holdings. There they found the people, especially the townsmen, so

hot against the “French” that it seemed possible to continue the

struggle. Beaucaire, Avignon, Tarascon, declared for their former

lords, and Marseilles showed sympathy with his cause. The elder

Raymond went off to Spain in the hope of recruiting reinforcements

there. In Beaucaire the castle was held by a garrison of de

Montfort’s, put there no doubt during his operation east of the Rhône

after Muret. The citizens now rose and besieged this garrison, and de

Montfort accordingly moved to relieve it.

On the way to Beaucaire, Count Simon appeared before Narbonne, and

there the quarrel between him and his old ally Arnaut Amalric came

to a head. The walls ordered to be destroyed the previous year must

have been patched up after a fashion, for Arnaut ordered the gates

shut against de Montfort. The time, I repeat, controlled no agents

of demolition except fire and human muscle. Still, the new defences

were weak, for the Crusaders promptly broke in and, having entered,

threatened Arnaut Amalric himself with violence for opposing them.

The redoubtable old man excommunicated de Montfort, publishing the

sentence twice over, and interdicted all the churches of the city as

long as the excommunicated leader of the Crusade should remain in

the place. Whereupon the Christian warriors stoned the archbishop’s

palace and the champion of Catholicism joked about the anathema laid

upon him, and even showed himself at mass as usual!

After this exchange of compliments at Narbonne, de Montfort moved

on Beaucaire, where the inhabitants had declared for Raymond, and

besieged the place. The situation was complicated, as the citizens

were at the same time besieging the garrison of “Crusaders” in the

castle on its bluff over the Rhône. Repeated assaults by de Montfort

failed for want of a sufficient number of catapults and other siege

machinery. Meanwhile, in the castle, the woodwork of the roofs and

hoardings (i.e., wooden galleries projecting outward from the tops

of walls and towers so as to command their base) was badly damaged

by the catapults of the men of Beaucaire. Nevertheless, the castle

garrison held out stoutly, catching the battering ram with a noose

of rope which prevented the heavy ram from being drawn back to gain

momentum for its blow and keeping the sappers from the base of the

walls by lowering burning bundles of tow and sulphur by means of

chains from the battlements. Presently word came that Toulouse was

about to declare for Raymond. Whereat de Montfort, in a fury, raised

the siege of Beaucaire, abandoning his siege machinery and much of

his equipment in his haste to meet the new danger.

In angry haste he concentrated all the force he could move from

the Razes country on the upper Aude, the Carcassonne district,

the Lauraguais region between Toulouse and Carcassonne, and the

Toulousain district itself. Then, his concentration made, he

promptly appeared before the town more like an enemy than like

a rightful lord returning to his own. Now Toulouse, like most

important thirteenth-century towns, was a “free city,” a practically

independent little republic, whose elected magistrates were

accustomed to sit in conference with their nominal feudal lord and

follow his lead by their own consent rather than be commanded

by him. Accordingly, they asked de Montfort to enter peaceably,

unarmoured, and mounted on a palfrey. He replied fiercely that

message after message had told him of their conspiracies and treasons

against him, and that he would put off neither his hauberk of mail

nor his helmet of Pavian steel until he had taken hostages of the

flower of the city.

After more high words, the magistrates were inclined to yield, and

prepared to confer with de Montfort outside the walls, but were

restrained from putting themselves in his power by public opinion,

which began to run high. About this time a number of squires, young

gentlemen, and pages from de Montfort’s army, entered the town and

began to break in and pillage. This was too much. A typical mediæval

riot started. Men of all ages and classes, and even women, seized

whatever was handy that might serve as a weapon. Barricades of

furniture, stakes, and barrels sprang up before every house, and

piles of stones and beams appeared on the balconies ready to be

thrown down on the heads of the “French.” Battle was joined to the

cry of “Montfort” on one side, “Toulouse! Beaucaire! Avignon!” on the

other, and matters became so hot that de Montfort’s people, forced to

give way under the rain of missiles from the houses, could scarcely

make good their retreat over more barricades thrown up to cut them

off. Seeing that the place could not be held, Count Simon ordered

it to be set on fire in several places. The “French” had become

scattered, and the energy of the Toulousains put them in danger of

being crushed, so that they had to concentrate and cut their way

through in deep columns. By nightfall only the citadel, the “Chateau

Narbonaise,” was still in de Montfort’s hands. He himself was “full

of rage and anxiety” at the heavy losses his troops had suffered.

On the following day, however, Bishop Fulk persuaded the Toulousains

to submit, and give not only hostages but also a huge ransom of

30,000 marks. De Montfort accepted the hostages and the ransom, and

then pillaged the place once more, “destroyed” its fortifications

(after he had officially demolished them in the previous year),

filled up the ditches and disarmed the inhabitants. The uneasy peace

lasted through the rest of the year.

The new Pope, Honorius III, was of a mild nature, so that even had

he wished, he would hardly have been able to struggle against the

extreme party in Languedoc. Instead, the new legate whom he sent

there—a Cardinal Bertrand of San Giovanni e Paolo—was more bitter

than any of his immediate predecessors.

Now that the party of violence had nothing to fear from Rome, the

Crusade was again preached, so that new Crusaders appeared in

Languedoc in the spring, and with them a small royal force sent by

Philip Augustus. With these reinforcements de Montfort was operating

east of the Rhône when, for the second time, word came that Toulouse

had declared against him. This time it was not a matter of suspicion

and secret conspiracies. The citizens had joyfully welcomed back

the two Raymonds and massacred all Frenchmen who failed to gain the

shelter of the Château Narbonaise. The counts of Foix and Comminges

and many nobles had rallied once more to fight the “French.” De

Montfort’s wife, the Countess Alice, and one of his sons were in the

Château Narbonaise, which held out, although seriously threatened

by the Toulousains. Messengers were sent to tell Count Simon that

he must make haste to relieve the garrison. This he did, and in the

month of September began the third siege of the capital of Languedoc.

The trace of the walls of Toulouse in 1217-1218 is known throughout

most of their length. On the south they left the river at the corner

of the present Rue des Renforts, and extended in a fairly regular

curve until they struck the line of the present inner boulevards

just east of St. Etienne. They then followed, roughly, the Boulevard

Lazare Carnot and the Rue Dutemps, divided the capitol and its

grounds, and met the river in the neighbourhood of the Place St.

Pierre—a circumference of about a mile and three-quarters.

The bits of their foundation which still exist are built in small

square stones, with occasional binding courses of brick, in the

manner of the later Empire and the Dark Ages. Throughout most of its

length the wall is flanked by round towers at the regulation Roman

intervals of about seventy yards.

The fortress known as the Château Narbonaise stood near the

intersection of the present “Allée St. Michel” with the Rue des

Renforts. It was rectangular in plan, of no great extent, with a

tower at each corner. Instead of forming a part of the city walls,

it stood outside them, commanding them the more easily through being

considerably higher. The Porte St. Michel, through which ran the

road to Narbonne, pierced the city wall just opposite the castle’s

north-western corner, so that the castle dominated it completely.

Within the place the intense local patriotism of the mediæval commune

was again blazing high. Everyone worked fiercely, digging ditches

and setting up palisades and wooden towers to fill the gaps made in

the walls by the recent “demolitions.” Even at night the work was

continued by torchlight.

The first party of Crusaders to arrive was commanded by Guy de

Montfort, Count Simon’s brother. Dismounting, and cutting off part

of the shafts of their lances to make them more manageable in street

fighting, the “French” men-at-arms attacked the place. An entrance

was forced, but, as in the previous year, the assailants could not

maintain themselves in the streets of the town, finding themselves

always confronted by new barricades and exposed to a hail of missiles

from the houses. Guy and his men ended by taking refuge in the

Château.

The Toulousains had fought so savagely that when Count Simon himself

appeared and proposed another general assault, Guy and those who had

seen the new spirit of the citizens finally persuaded him not to

do so. The crusading leader, with all the scorn of a knight of the

Middle Ages for townsmen in arms, at first made no preparations for

a regular siege, but merely completed his concentration and terraced

the walls of the Château Narbonaise with emplacements for catapults

to fire upon the works which the Toulousains had thrown up to

confront it. But despite this heavy “artillery support,” the attack

which he delivered was repulsed with loss, and Guy was wounded.

Clearly a regular siege was necessary, and Count Simon called a

council of war and resigned himself in sombre anger to listen to the

advice of his barons and clergy as to how such an operation might be

made good.

Throughout the true Middle Ages it was extremely difficult—in

fact, almost impossible—to contain, that is to hold continuous

lines all around, one of the first-class cities of the time. The

sudden, spontaneous expansion of Christendom, reflected especially

in the size of those cities, had been accompanied by no adequate

corresponding increase of public powers, and by no system of banking

and floating credit. Therefore, it was almost impossible to raise and

maintain an army of sufficient size for such an undertaking. Very few

mediæval commanders would risk attacking, let alone laying regular

siege to, a first-class city. In this case the circumference of the

defences to be attacked was over 1,600 yards on the right or east

bank alone plus a bridgehead on the left or west bank. In the council

of war Bishop Fulk pointed out that it would be useless to blockade

the city proper if the bridgehead were not blockaded also. The double

task was accordingly undertaken.

Having contained the bridgehead, de Montfort’s main task was to make

it as difficult as possible for the city proper, on the right bank,

to communicate with the open country. Even if he could not make good

his blockade, he might be able to annoy the citizens so much that

they would end by surrendering.

Throughout the siege both sides continued to receive reinforcements.

The Count of Foix, together with certain Aragonese and Catalans,

joined the besieged, so that it was possible to make an active

defence with continual sorties. De Montfort’s reinforcements seem to

have come in more slowly, and to have consisted mainly of mercenary

troops. At first de Montfort himself took station on the left bank

opposite the bridgehead, so as to hinder communication between the

town and the friendly country to the south-west. Shortly after the

arrival of Foix and the Spaniards, he was forced to return to the

right bank by a vigorous sortie, against the Chateau Narbonaise, and

the entrenched camp of the Crusaders which was growing up around it

to the south of the town. Throughout the late autumn continual sharp

skirmishing went on south of the town in the space between the walls

and the entrenchments of the camp. During the winter the Crusaders

attempted a surprise attack at dawn, and broke into the city, but

were repulsed with nothing gained. With the spring both sides were

reinforced. De Montfort was forced to withdraw the lines of his

entrenched camp some distance further from the town, abandoning many

of the shelters he had constructed. The besieged thereupon began

attacking the Château Narbonaise, when a high flood of the Garonne

not only cramped their operation but hindered their communications

with their bridgehead so that Count Simon was able, by long and

obstinate fighting, to win the bridgehead altogether. Further, with

the reinforcements which kept coming in, he was able to extend his

entrenched lines from the Château Narbonaise (which stood on the

river bank above the town) to a point opposite the great church of

St. Sernin. But he could not close the space between St. Sernin and

the river bank below the town or prevent the movement of boats on

the lower river. Further, while the morale of the besieged was as

high as ever, and their defences were always being made stronger,

in de Montfort’s camp the strain was beginning to tell. The legate

taunted him to madness with his failure to get a decision. Money

to pay the numerous mercenaries was running short. In vain Pope

Honorius alternately threatened and pleaded with the Kings of France

and of Aragon, the Count of Foix, the younger Raymond, the citizens

of Toulouse, Avignon, Marseilles, and anyone else who occurred to

him. Clearly, either matters must be brought to a head, or the siege

raised.

De Montfort was not the man to admit himself beaten. He determined

on a decisive assault by means of a large “cat,” a movable wooden

gallery with a steep roof covered with raw hides to prevent fire.

Under such cover the defences might be approached and sapped. At

the first attempt the “cat” was injured by stones from catapults.

Strengthened, it was moved forward a second time, “moving with jerky

little steps,” as an eye witness reports. Without waiting for it to

reach their lines, the besieged began a general sortie. De Montfort

himself was at mass when this news was brought to him. “I will not

go,” he said, “until I have seen my Saviour.” Not until after the

elevation of the Host did he take command. Then he concentrated his

men and had driven the Toulousains back to their walls, when a stone

from a catapult worked by women struck him on the head. He fell and

died in a few minutes, his face all bloody and black where the helm

had been driven in upon it. A few days after a final attack was made

and repulsed, upon which the siege was raised.

Despite de Montfort’s apparent failure his work was decisive. The

eight years during which he had maintained himself in Languedoc had

not only seen many “Frenchmen” assigned to lands there, they had also

seen the moral and political prestige of the southern nobles damaged

beyond repair. Toulouse had definitely lost any chance she may have

had of rallying the south about her to make head against Paris.

Languedoc with her wealth, her culture, and her indifference to the

moral unity of Europe, was destined to go under. The great tolerant

southern houses were to be swallowed up by the “most Christian” kings

of France, who represented the new, vague, but enormous idea of the

nation. De Montfort, dead and apparently beaten, had changed the

course of history.

The next six years of the Crusade (1218-1224) saw only small wars.

They are marked by a single brief and inconclusive campaign,

commanded by Louis of France.

The permanent effect of de Montfort’s work did not at first appear.

His son Amaury could not fill his place. Philip Augustus promptly

permitted Prince Louis to lead another crusading army, with Cardinal

Bertrand, the new papal legate, at his side. At Marmande a massacre

was achieved fit to rejoice the heart of any mediæval Crusader, but

Toulouse successfully resisted another siege, and the army returned

home having accomplished nothing. In fact the desultory fighting

which went on after its departure ran somewhat in favour of Raymond.

Amaury’s strength was mainly in his possession of Carcassonne, on

account of its great natural and artificial strength under the

conditions of the time, together with its powerful strategic position

commanding the highway between the Atlantic and the Mediterranean.

But Simon’s son had so little of the ability of his father that he

could not prevent Raymond from winning back, bit by bit, much of his

old domain. In 1220 Raymond retook Lavaur and slaughtered every man

in it except a handful who escaped by swimming down the Agout. The

Crusaders had no monopoly of massacre.

Meanwhile Pope Honorius tried every means at his command to push

matters, but without success. A new legate, Conrad of Porto by name,

set up a military order patterned after the Templars and Hospitallers

under the name of “Knights of the Faith of Jesus Christ,” but the new

foundation achieved little. In the following year Honorius published

a sentence of excommunication and exhereditation against the entire

Toulousain House, and raised enough money to set on foot another

expedition under Prince Louis. But the Prince turned his army against

La Rochelle and took that city from Henry III of England, so that the

net result of the Pope’s effort to settle Languedocian affairs was

just nothing.

Early in 1222, four years after his father’s death, Amaury de

Montfort recognized his position as hopeless and offered all that he

possessed or claimed in Languedoc to Philip Augustus. This brought

on a year full of diplomacy. Amaury urged Honorius to support his

action, and the Pope did so, pointing out the deplorable state of

religion in Languedoc, where heresy was openly preached and seemed

ineradicable. Philip refused, the obstinate caution of the Capets

strong in him. Even the offer of a twentieth of the entire income

of the Church in France together with all manner of indulgences did

not tempt him. Next Amaury made his offer to Thibaut, the powerful

Count of Champagne, but again King Philip blocked matters by refusing

to exempt Thibaut from service to the Crown in case of a break with

Henry of England. In August Raymond died. His son, succeeding him

under the title of Raymond VII, promptly wrote to Philip Augustus to

ask his suzerain’s help towards the removal of the Pope’s sentence

of excommunication and exhereditation against himself. In December,

Amaury repeated his offer to the King, and again the King refused.

The confused and indecisive negotiations of 1222 had at least the

result of convincing both the new legate and the King of France that

Languedoc must be stabilized, and that promptly. The legate saw that

heresy was again on the increase, favoured by the confusion born of

the long war. The King felt himself near his end—he was suffering

from continual fevers—and he feared that after his own death Louis,

with his amiable character and weak health, would find himself drawn

into the Languedocian business by the clergy and would die too of

the fatigue of it, so that the kingdom would be left in the hands

of a woman, Louis’ wife, and of an infant, who was to be St. Louis.

Accordingly, when the legate called a council at Sens for the purpose

of reconciling Amaury and Raymond VII, Philip asked and obtained

a change of meeting place to Paris in order that he himself might

be present. He was in the provinces, down with another attack of

fever, but felt so deeply the need of a definite settlement that he

risked the fatigues of the journey, and died on the way. True to his

policy of supporting the de Montforts, but cautiously and without

identifying himself with their cause, in his will he left Amaury

thirty thousand livres.

Within a few months after Philip’s death, the first of the events his

wisdom had foreseen actually came about. Amaury’s financial position

had become so bad that in January 1224 he patched up a provisional

treaty with Toulouse and Foix, used most of Philip’s legacy to pay

off his garrisons, and definitely evacuated Languedoc. The Archbishop

of Bourges, together with the Bishops of Langres and Chartres, asked

Louis to grant him the reversion of the office of Constable of

France, and, with this understanding, for the third time he offered

his Languedocian possessions and claims to the French Crown. In

February the offer was accepted.

With the acceptance of Amaury’s offer by the French Crown begins the

last or monarchical phase of the Crusade, which lasts three years

(1224-1227). In it the small war continues—varied by a single major

operation, a second campaign under Louis VIII, the amiable son of the

wise and crafty Philip Augustus, which operation fails. Despite this

military failure, the war ends in a political decision against the

House of Toulouse.

The citizens of Narbonne (royalist like all townsmen because of the

internal peace and order the Crown stood for) were promptly assured

by a letter from the King that he would lead a Crusade which should

march three weeks after Easter. In dealing with the Pope, Louis

made conditions. Rome was to give him one of his own prelates (the

Archbishop of Bourges) for legate instead of the Italian Cardinal

Bertrand of Porto, indulgences were to be the same as for a Crusade

to Palestine, any of his vassals who might refuse service were to be

excommunicated, and Roman diplomacy was to do its utmost to assure

him peace with all other possible foreign enemies. Finally, the

Church was to give him twenty thousand livres of Paris per year out

of its revenues during the Crusade, which was to begin and end when

Louis chose. It was a formidable list, but the Church could hardly

find any conditions too hard.

At this point matters were held up by another of the innumerable

shifts of purpose in the Roman Curia. Henry III of England was

Raymond’s kinsman. Moreover, Bordeaux and all the lands still left

to the Plantagenet in Aquitaine would be dangerously isolated should

the county of Toulouse become French Crown land. Accordingly, English

influence at Rome was exerted in Raymond’s favour. The young Count

of Toulouse himself caused his own ambassadors to promise full

obedience to the See of Peter, and through them made exceedingly

handsome “presents” to all who might possibly have influence with the

Pope. These tactics succeeded so well that Honorius wrote favourably

to Raymond, promising to send a new legate (Cardinal Romano of St.

Angelo) to arrange matters; and wrote to Louis saying that the

Emperor Frederic II’s proposed Crusade was so important that no other

crusading indulgences could be issued for the present. The papal

letter to the King went on to say that if Louis would but keep on

threatening Raymond, the Count must end by giving in. The veteran

Arnaut Amalric was directed to lead the local bishops in pressing

Raymond VII to make no reservations in his offer of submission to

the Church. The legate formally withdrew the Albigensian crusading

indulgences and warranted Raymond VII as a good Catholic at a

“parliament” in Paris. Louis disgustedly washed his hands of the

whole matter, wrote to the Pope that he, Louis, had been played with

and tricked, and that Rome might do what it liked without his help

so long as his own rights as lay sovereign were not infringed. The

French force which was already on foot was used to capture some of

the Aquitanian castles still held for Henry III of England.

For a time it looked as if the peace would stand. Under the tutelage

of Arnaut Amalric, Raymond VII agreed to enforce anti-heretical

legislation as thorough as even the grim old Cistercian could

desire. With the Count of Foix and the Bishop of Beziers to confirm

his signature, the young Count promised banishment, confiscation

of goods and physical punishment of heretics, dismissal of all

bandit mercenaries, internal peace and order, restoration of

Church privileges and an indemnity of twenty thousand marks to be

used partly for repayment of damage to ecclesiastical property in

Languedoc during the fighting, and partly (in case the Pope obtained

a formal and complete renunciation of the Montfortist claims) to

Amaury as compensation. If all this was not enough, Raymond VII

agreed to put himself entirely in the Church’s hands, reserving

only his allegiance to the King. All of which was agreed to by an

Ecclesiastical Council, which Arnaut Amalric attended, at Montpellier

in June. Amaury vainly protested, before this decision was taken,

saying that Louis was about to act and that the whole Church would be

scandalized by such compounding with the House of Toulouse. Unlike

his father, Raymond VII made some attempt to confirm promises with

deeds, for he restored the See of Agde to Theodisius. Everything

seemed to point to confirmation of the settlement by the Pope and an

end to the whole Albigensian war.

Again, as had so often happened, Rome reversed the decision of the

Languedocian Church, only this time the local clergy were for peace

and it was the Curia that was for war. Toulousain promises had too

often proved broken reeds. Heresy was again raising its head; another

public debate like those of the years just before the Crusade had

even been held, and heretical “bishoprics” were multiplying. All this

must have been well known at Rome. Moreover, not a few of the local

clergy had increased their possessions during the war and had no wish

to go back to the _status quo_. Finally, Louis sent Guy de Montfort

to oppose the settlement. From October, 1224, until after the new

year Honorius refused to move.

When at last the Pope’s decision was made it was hostile to Raymond.

Cardinal Romano of St. Angelo was again sent as legate to France to

threaten the young Count and to try to patch up a truce so that

Louis might be free to use his whole strength in Languedoc. During

this year, nothing happened. Raymond VII, who had permitted the

Dominicans to preach in Toulouse against heresy, and welcomed the

Franciscan Saint Anthony of Padua, offered a national Church council

at Bourges such unreserved submission that the council could not

bring itself to condemn him, but broke up without giving a decision.

To meet the situation, Cardinal Romano the legate ordered each

archbishop to take counsel with his suffragans and give him written

decisions to transmit to Louis and the Pope. The strictest secrecy

was to be kept in the matter of these decisions. Anyone who revealed

them was to be excommunicated on the spot. Clearly such a system

would enable Pope and King to do exactly as they pleased. Raymond

could not flatter himself that the attack would be delayed much

longer, especially as the English had decided to leave Louis free

to weaken himself by taking on the difficult job of breaking the

high spirit of a district removed by so great a distance from his

base of operations. Further, old Arnaut Amalric, who had helped play

the Toulousain game ever since becoming a Languedocian Archbishop

himself, chose this unfortunate moment to die, and to be succeeded in

the Archbishopric of Narbonne by Peter Amiel, a bitter enemy of the

young Raymond.

In January, 1226, a grand parliament of the kingdom was held in

Paris. An address from the nobles was presented to Louis asking

that he undertake the Crusade. This he accordingly did, with the

reservation that he must be free to break off the campaign when

he should so desire. Raymond’s full submission at Bourges two

months before had prejudiced many French nobles in his favour, but

nevertheless nearly all of them took the cross with their King. The

one interruption to the proceedings was the Pope’s action in ordering

those of the nobles of Aquitaine and Poitou who had changed their

allegiance from English to French to change back again. The action

of the Pope was entirely defensible on moral grounds but had been

brought about (so the chroniclers say) by liberal use of English and

Toulousain money at Rome, as any trouble between the two crowns at

this time would benefit Toulouse enormously. Louis promptly went to

work to show even greater liberality to the Curia; the Papal orders

were suspended, and the preparations for the Crusade were resumed. At

a parliament held on March 29 orders were issued to concentrate at

Bourges on May 17. Service was to be for the duration of the King’s

stay in the South, instead of for forty days as before. The ruinous

effects of short enlistments had been as much of a curse to former

Crusades to Languedoc as to Washington in the American Revolution.

Raymond VII was supported only by the Count of Foix. Comminges

had made his peace, and Louis had taken diplomatic precautions to

prevent any intervention from Spain. Everything pointed to a complete

conquest of the South, except the delicate health of the King, on

whom the whole enterprise depended, since his presence in the field

was necessary to keep the army together.

On the appointed day, the army mustered at Bourges. Louis was deaf

to the pleas of the numerous clergy who begged of him remission

of the heavy tithe laid on them. He further swelled his war-chest

by accepting money payments instead of field service from certain

nobles not keen for the expedition. Even after these exemptions had

been granted, the army was enormous for the time. There were fifty

thousand knights and mounted men-at-arms, and “innumerable” infantry

it is said. The line of operations was on Lyons, and thence down the

Rhône, as in 1209.

There was no resistance until Avignon was reached on June 10. There

the citizens refused the “French” entry and manned their walls,

although they promised not to harass the army in its march if they

were left in peace. The place was within the Holy Roman Empire, but

Cardinal Romano, the legate, urged Louis to destroy it inasmuch as it

had remained ten years excommunicate and impenitent for tolerating

Waldensianism, so the King laid siege to it. The incident shows how

easy it was to influence Louis and draw him away from the central

matter in hand, and also, very significantly, how Waldenses were now

attacked as readily as Manicheans. The siege dragged on throughout

the summer and into the autumn. Raymond of Toulouse cleverly seized

his opportunity to move up and lay waste the country from which the

besieging army must draw food and forage. Disease and a plague of

flies in the French camp made matters worse. On top of this Pierre

Mauclerc, Louis’s second cousin, quarrelled with the King and left

the army. Philip Augustus had made this man Count of Brittany by

marrying him to the heiress of that fief, and now that she was dead

he was out to marry the heiress of Flanders and was angry when Louis

thwarted him. So he went off, after serving for forty days, and

began strengthening his castles and intriguing with the disaffected

Counts of Champagne and of La Marche in Poitou, both of whom were

supposed to have an understanding with Raymond. But Louis, although

easy to persuade, was not easy to discourage. He stuck to it until,

after three months’ siege, Avignon surrendered on September 10.

The citizens had been brought very low by the long blockade. They

therefore consented to pay ransom, demolish or dismantle their

fortifications, and accept from the legate a bishop pledged to

suppress heresy.

After the long delay at Avignon the army was at last directed against

Toulouse. Almost all the Languedocian cities, including Nismes,

Narbonne, Carcassonne, Albi, Beziers, Marseilles, Castres, and

Puylaurens had already declared for Church and King. But, just as the

end seemed in sight, the hardships of the campaign forced Louis to

turn homewards, sick with dysentery. At Montpensier, in Auvergne, on

November 8, he died. Within a little over three years after Philip

Augustus’s death, his fear had been realized: the kingdom he had

given his life to build was in the hands of a woman and child.

Despite this perilous state of affairs, the ideas of centralization

and nationality had been so quickened that their growth was hardly

checked. At first, to be sure, there was confusion, during which

Raymond was able to recover some ground. Louis’ widow, the able and

pious Blanche of Castille, was busy getting her 11 year old son,

Louis IX, crowned at Rheims. Meanwhile the Counts of La Marche,

Champagne, and Brittany intrigued busily with each other and with

England, and prepared for open rebellion. Blanche’s position was

so difficult that operations on a large scale in Languedoc could

not be continued. Nevertheless the ground already won was held by

the royal troops, under the energetic Humbert of Beaujeu who had

been left in command in the theatre of war by Louis when he turned

homeward to die. As long as Humbert’s force was kept “in being” in

the South, the crusading tithes on Church property continued to flow

into the royal treasury. During Lent in the year 1227, a local Church

council at Narbonne excommunicated those who had broken their oaths

sworn to Louis and ordered stricter persecution of heretics, showing

therefore that some oaths had been broken and that persecution was

not being carried on as faithfully as it might have been. Throughout

the year the fighting swayed back and forth. Humbert de Beaujeu, with

Archbishop Peter Amiel, of Narbonne, and Bishop Fulk, of Toulouse,

at his side, took the castle of Becede, massacred the garrison and

joyously burned some heretics. Raymond VII, for his part, recovered

the town of Castel Sarrasin on the middle Garonne, but was not strong

enough to keep the royalists from laying waste the countryside clear

up to the walls of Toulouse.

Both sides were weary of war. The drain on the royal resources was

serious, especially in view of the hostile attitude of the three

northern Counts, and the Church tithes came in slowly and caused

endless friction to collect. On the other hand, Raymond saw his

position in the eyes of the world steadily going from bad to worse

as his overlord continued to make war against him in the name of the

Church. Clearly, if he could save anything at all by submission,

he had better make haste to do so. Finally, the third party to the

matter, the papacy, had also become anxious for peace in Languedoc.

In March, 1227, the mild and aged Honorius III had died and been

succeeded as Pope by Gregory IX, equally aged but far harsher than

his predecessor. In spite of his eighty years, Gregory was determined

to oppose the Emperor Frederic II, who had been growing ever more

powerful and readier to oppose the Church ever since his guardian

Innocent III had died. For a collision with Frederic, the Church must

concentrate all her strength. The Languedocian business, therefore,

was better out of the way.

With all three parties to the dispute equally determined upon a

settlement, there remained only the question of ways and means.

Raymond VII had no son and only one daughter, Jeanne. To betroth her

to one of the younger brothers of the King would assure the ultimate

reversion of the entire Toulousain heritage to the Crown. The Church

would back the Crown in obtaining a settlement favourable to the

King of France, granted that strong and systematic measures were

taken against heresy. A papal letter of March, 1228, to Cardinal

Romano the legate, shows that the proposed marriage was the heart of

the negotiations. A second letter, of October 21 in the same year,

renewing the crusading indulgences, shows that pressure upon Raymond

was necessary in order to make him accept the terms proposed. To the

same end, it seems that there was further devastation of Toulousain

territory. In December Raymond gave in, and named Count Thibaut of

Champagne as his agent with full power to negotiate in his behalf. In

January, 1229, the parties in interest, including representatives of

the municipality of Toulouse, met at Meaux and signed a preliminary

agreement. On Holy Thursday, before the great western doorways of

Notre Dame de Paris, was enacted the last scene of the long drama.

There Raymond came before the legate, bare-footed like his father

twenty years before at St. Gilles and clad only in his shirt. He then

walked the length of the church to be “reconciled” as a penitent

before the high altar. This done, he yielded himself the King’s

prisoner in the Louvre, until such time as his daughter and five of

his castles should be in royal hands, and five hundred “toises” (over

a thousand yards) of the long-suffering walls of Toulouse should be

demolished. The end had come.

The terms were hard. Raymond was to pursue heretics and their

“favorers” without reserve, even to his nearest kinsmen. The familiar

conditions of restoration of Church property, dismissal of bandit

mercenaries, and establishing public security, again appear. In

addition, the Count was to pay handsomely for ten years, “two masters

in theology, two decretalists and six masters in grammar and the

liberal arts” as members of the faculty of Toulouse University.

He made also the familiar promise to crusade to Palestine, and

engaged to do so within two years and remain in the Holy Land five

years more. He, and after him his daughter Jeanne, were to retain

Toulouse itself, Agen, Rouergue, Quercy except Cahors, and part of

the district of Albi. The duchy of Narbonne and the counties of

Velay, Gevaudan, Viviers, and Lodeve reverted at once to the Crown.

The Church took the “Marquisate of Provence” a fief of the Empire

to the east of the Rhône. Jeanne’s betrothal to Prince Alphonse, a

child of nine, was treated as a royal “grace” bestowed on Raymond,

and so was the royal amnesty to the numerous prescribed gentlemen of

Languedoc, except the heretics among them. His vassals and people

also subscribed to the conditions, and swore to acknowledge the

King as their sole lord after forty days should Raymond fail in any

particular. The glory had departed from Toulouse.

The settlement ended the struggle. The Count of Foix came in and made

his peace the following year. Raymond seems to have lived up to the

conditions, except that he kept putting off crusading to Palestine.

In 1237 the light-weight Amaury de Montfort played the fool by

calling himself Duke of Narbonne and by making attempts on the county

of Melgueil in his own name, and on Dauphiné in the name of his wife.

Gregory IX brought him up with a round turn and ordered him off to

Palestine. His ill luck held; he was taken prisoner by the Saracens

and held for three years until Gregory ransomed him, whereupon he

ended his futile life at Otranto, on his way home in 1241. In 1240,

there was a last flicker of local independence. The last of the

Trencavels scraped up some support in Spain and laid siege to his

ancestral city of Carcassonne. There was no movement in his favour

among the people, and he was unable to reduce the royal garrison, so

he ravaged the countryside before taking himself off and disappearing

from history. Seven years later Raymond VII died, in the midst of

preparing for his long-postponed crusade to Palestine. Countess

Jeanne and Prince Alphonse, who had been duly married, succeeded to

what was left of his possessions. In 1271 they died without issue and

King Philip III, St. Louis’ heir, took their lands.

Summarizing the four phases of the war, in the first the Crusaders

appear in great force in obedience to the Church and take Beziers and

Carcassonne. This phase lasts only a few months in 1209.

The second phase (1209-1212) begins with the appointment of Simon de

Montfort, nominally to govern the conquered territory and really to

root out the tolerant southern houses. Personal interests now take

their place beside religious interests. The second phase lasts for

three years. Throughout this period Simon de Montfort uses his scanty

resources with such ability that he not only maintains himself but

also extends his holdings over the greater part of the country in

dispute.

The third phase (1213-1224) begins when Simon breaks the formidable

intervention of Pedro, King of Aragon. The capital point of Toulouse

he is unable to take, or to hold it after it is adjudged to him by

the Lateran Council, and he is finally killed beneath its walls.

He is successful in that he weakens the prestige of the House of

Toulouse due to the long war waged against it in the name of religion.

After Simon de Montfort’s death, for seven years his son continues to

lose ground, and finally resigns his claims in favour of the French

Crown.

The third, or royal phase, lasts three years (1224-1227). An imminent

decision by arms, in favour of the Crown and against the House of

Toulouse, is averted by King Louis VIII’s death, and finally, in

1229, a treaty is made, providing for the eventual absorption of

Toulouse by the Crown.

The net results are: (first) the establishment of French national

unity down to our own day, with no prospect of its dissolution:

(second) the re-establishment of the moral unity of Europe,

threatened at the beginning of the thirteenth century by the

Albigensian movement; which moral unity, so re-established, endured

until the convulsion of the sixteenth century, in which the modern

world was born.