Fulke, Count of Anjou, born about the year 1092, was thirty-nine years of age at the time when his father-in-law died, and he became, with his wife Milicent, the successor to the throne. He was a man of affable and generous disposition, patient and prudent rather than impetuous, and of great experience and judgment in military operations. He was of small stature—all the previous kings had been tall men—and had red hair; “in spite of which,” says William of Tyre, who regarded red-haired men with suspicion, “the Lord found him, like David, after his own heart.” The principal defect in him was that he had no memory. He forgot faces, persons, and promises. He would entertain a man one day in the most friendly spirit possible, making all kinds of offers of assistance, and giving him to understand that he was entirely devoted to his interests. The next day he would meet him and ask people who he was, having meanwhile quite forgotten all about him. This was sometimes extremely embarrassing, and “many men who reckoned on their familiar relations with the king fell into confusion, reflecting that they themselves, who wanted to show as protectors and patrons to other people, required a patron with the king.”

The domestic relations of Fulke were somewhat complicated, but they bear a certain special interest for English readers.^[62] His father, Fulke, the Count of Touraine and Anjou, was married three times, and had one child from each marriage. His third wife, Bertrade, the mother of King Fulke, ran away from him, and became the mistress of King Philip of France, by whom she had three children. One of them was that CÆcilia who married Tancred, and, after his death, Count Pons. Fulke, by means of his mother’s influence, making a wealthy marriage, was the father of that Geoffrey Plantagenet who married Matilda of England, and produced the Plantagenet line. His daughter Matilda was also betrothed to William, the son of Henry I., and, on the drowning of that prince, she went into a convent, where she remained. Another daughter, Sybille, married Thierry, Count of Flanders. By his second wife, Milicent, Fulke had two sons, Baldwin and Amaury, both of whom became, in turn, Kings of Jerusalem.

In the first year of King Fulke’s reign died that stout old warrior, Jocelyn of Edessa. His end was worthy of his life. In the preceding year he had been besieging a fort or castle near Aleppo, and had ordered a certain town to be undermined. While he was personally superintending the works, the tower suddenly fell and buried the old count beneath its ruins. They extricated him, but his legs and limbs were broken, and he never walked again. He retained, however, his power of speech and his lofty courage, and when, next year, the news came that the Sultan of Iconium was besieging in force one of his strong places, he sent for his son and ordered him to collect all the men and knights he could, and march at once to the rescue. But young Jocelyn, who was, like most of the Syrian-born Christians, little better than a cur, refused flatly, alleging as an excuse the disproportion of numbers. The old man, sorrowful at heart on account of his son’s cowardice, and foreboding the troubles which would surely come after his own death, ordered his litter to be prepared, and was carried at the head of his own army to the relief of the fort. The news reached the Saracens that old Jocelyn was coming himself, and at the very mention of his name they broke up their camp and fled. “And when he heard this, the count ordered those who carried his litter to place it on the ground; then raising his hands to heaven, with tears and sighs, he returned thanks to God, who had visited him in his affliction, and had thus favoured him by suffering him once more, and for the last time, to be formidable to the enemies of Christ. And while he poured out his thanks to heaven, he breathed his last.” There was now no one left of the old crusading chiefs, and their spirit was dead.

Most of them had married Armenians, and their sons were degenerate, sensual, and cowardly. Young Jocelyn, for instance, though married to the most beautiful and the best woman in the East, the Lady Beatrice, was so given over to all kinds of licentious excesses and luxuries that he was, says the historian, covered with infamy. His daughter married Fulke’s son Amaury, and the evil life of Jocelyn bore its fruits in the leprosy of his grandson, King Baldwin IV.

Directly the Countess Alice of Antioch heard of her father’s death, she began to plot and intrigue to break through the settlement made in her daughter’s favour, and to get the town and principality for herself. By means of gifts and promises, she drew over to her own interests young Jocelyn of Edessa, and Pons, Count of Tripoli, and the people of Antioch, alarmed for their future, sent hastily to the king for assistance. Fulke went first to Beyrout, whence he intended to proceed through the territories of the Count of Tripoli to Antioch. But Pons, though his wife was the king’s own sister, positively refused to allow him to pass. The king went by sea. Then Pons followed him with a small army. Fulke, getting together some troops at Antioch, went out to meet him, and an engagement took place, in which Pons was defeated, and most of his knights taken prisoners. After this the Count of Tripoli made his submission, and was reconciled to the king, who confided the government of Antioch to Renaud de Margat, and returned to his capital. But there was no repose for a King of Jerusalem, and the news came that Zanghi, with a large army, had passed the Euphrates, and was invading the territory of Antioch. Once more the order for preparation was given, and the king marched north. When he arrived at Sidon, he was met by his sister CÆcilia, who told him how her husband was besieged in Montferrand by the Saracens, and implored the king, with all a woman’s tears and entreaties, to go first to his assistance. Zanghi thought best to retire, and raising his camp, got back across the Euphrates with all his plunder. But he only retired, “pour mieux sauter”” and came back in overwhelming force. And then followed one more, almost the last, of those splendid victories which seem to have been won, unless the histories lie, against such fearful odds, and entirely through the personal valour of each individual Christian. The reputation of Fulke rose high by this victory, and he had time to regulate some of his domestic matters. First it became necessary to get a husband for little Constance of Antioch, in order to save himself the trouble of perpetually interfering in the troubles caused by Alice. He could think of no one so suitable as Raymond of Poitiers. But there were difficulties in the way. Raymond was in England at the court of Henry I. If deputies were sent publicly, inviting him to Antioch, Alice would certainly use all her influence with the Norman princes of Sicily, her late husband’s cousins, to stop him on the way. A double deceit was therefore practised. Alice was privately informed that Raymond was sent for to marry her, not her daughter. Raymond was written to by a special messenger, a Knight Hospitaller, named Gerard, and ordered to travel to the East in disguise as a simple pilgrim. These precautions proved successful. Alice, rejoiced at the prospect of another gallant husband, ceased her intrigues. Raymond arrived safely in Antioch, where Alice and the Patriarch were both waiting for him. And then he was married without the least delay to Constance, a little girl of eleven or twelve. The Countess Alice, who had been deceived up to the very hour of the wedding, went away to Laodicea, mad with rage and disappointment, and we hear no more of her. Fulke had checkmated her.

His next trouble was on account of her sister, his own wife, Milicent. At a council held in Jerusalem, one Walter, Count of CÆsarea, son-in-law to Hugh, Count of Jaffa, rose and accused his father-in-law of the crime of lÈse-majestÉ. The accusation was prompted by the king himself, who had, or thought he had, good reason to be jealous of his wife’s relations with Count Hugh. And accordingly he hated Hugh. The barons heard the charge, and summoned Hugh to answer it in person, and to defend his honour, en champ clos, against his accuser. On the appointed day Walter of CÆsarea appeared in arms, but Hugh did not come. Whether that he was guilty, or whether that he was unwilling to risk his honour and life on the chance of a single fight, is uncertain. He was accordingly judged guilty in default, and the king marched against him. But Count Hugh was not so easily put down. He hastened to Ascalon, and made an alliance, to the horror of all good Christians, with those hereditary enemies of the faith, the inhabitants of that town. They joyfully joined him, and engaged to harass the country while he defended Jaffa. And then Hugh drew up his bridges, shut his gates, and sat down, announcing his determination to hold out to the last. There was no one in the kingdom with so great a reputation as he for personal bravery; no one so handsome, no one so strong, and no one of better birth. Moreover, he was the cousin-german to the queen, which gave him a reason, or at least a pretext, for visiting her frequently and privately.

But it could not be endured that civil war should rage so close to the very capital of the realm, and negotiations were entered into between the contending parties. Finally it was agreed that Hugh should put away his unnatural alliance with the Saracens, and should so far acknowledge the sentence of the barons by an exile of three years. Hugh repaired to Jerusalem with the king, where he waited till the preparations for his departure should be completed. One day, while he was playing dice outside a shop in the street, a Breton knight stabbed him with a sword, and Hugh fell apparently dead. He was not dead, however, and was ultimately cured of his wounds, but died in Sicily before the term of his exile was completed. Everybody thought that King Fulke had ordered the assassination, but the murderer stoutly declared, in the midst of the keenest tortures, that he had no accomplices, and that he had acted solely in what he thought obedience to the will of Heaven. Fulke ordered his limbs to be broken and cut off one after the other, all but his tongue, which was left free, in order that full confession might be made. Queen Milicent’s resentment pursued those who had compassed the exile of her lover. All who had been concerned in it went in terror and peril, knowing, “furens quid foemina possit;” and even the king found it prudent to make the peace with his wife, and henceforth, even if he should be jealous, to conceal that passion as much as possible. But the count died in Sicily, and the queen’s resentment died with him.

There was not, however, very much more glory awaiting the much troubled Fulke. Pons, Count of Tripoli, was taken prisoner by the Damascenes, and being recognised by certain Syrians, living in Lebanon, was put to death. Evidently the historian is wrong here, as the time was quite gone by for putting illustrious prisoners to death. There must have been some special reason for this barbarity. However, his son Raymond believed the story, and in order to avenge his death, marched a force to the mountains and brought back to Tripoli, loaded with irons, all those whom he could catch, as accessories to the death of his father. There, in presence of all the people, the poor creatures, who appear to have done nothing at all, were put to death with different kinds of tortures, all the most cruel, “in just punishment of their enormous crimes.”

And now the misfortunes of the Christian kingdom began fairly to set in. The emperor John Comnenus, son of Alexis, was marching across Asia Minor with the intention of renewing his father’s claims on Antioch. Raymond sent hurriedly to the king for assistance. Fulke went northwards again. He arrival in time to hear that Zanghi was again on Christian soil, ravaging and pillaging. He went to meet him, and the Christian army was completely and terribly defeated. Fulke took refuge in the fortress of Montferrand. Raymond of Tripoli was made prisoner. In this juncture an appeal was made to Jocelyn of Edessa and Raymond of Antioch to come to their assistance, and the Patriarch of Jerusalem was ordered to muster every man he could find.

It was the most critical moment in the history of the kingdom. Fortunately John Comnenus was too wise to desire the destruction of the Latin Christians, and he contented himself with the homage of Raymond of Antioch, and came to their assistance. But the Franks quarrelled with the Greeks, and were suspicious of their motives. John retired in disgust with his allies; a year afterwards he came back again; was insulted by the people of Antioch; was actually refused permission to go as a pilgrim to Jerusalem, except in disguise, and was killed by a poisoned arrow, very likely by a Frank. Thus the Latins lost all hope of succour from Constantinople, at a time when succour from some quarter was necessary to their very existence, when the old ardour of crusading which had kept their ranks full was dying out in Europe, and when their chiefs, the children of the old princes, were spending their days in slothful luxury, careless of glory, and anxious only for peace and feasting.

Fulke’s own son-in-law, Thierry of Flanders, arriving at this time with a large following, the king made use of his men to go across the Jordan and clear away a nest of brigands which had been established in a cavern on a mountain side. While they were occupied in the regular siege of this place, the Turks took advantage of their absence, and made a predatory incursion into the south of Palestine, taking and plundering the little town of Tekoa. Robert, Grand Master of the Templars, went in hot haste against them. They fled at his approach; but the Christians, instead of keeping together and following up the victory, dispersed all over the plain. The Turks rallied, and forming small detachments, turned upon their pursuers, and slaughtered them nearly all. Among those who were killed was the famous Templar, Odo of Montfaucon. Fulke was sore afflicted by the news of this disaster, but persevered in the siege, and had at least the satisfaction of destroying his robbers.

One more military expedition King Fulke was to make. Allied with the Emir of Damascus, he laid siege to the town of Baucas, which Zanghi had taken. The legate of the pope, Alberic of Ostia, was with the army, and exhorted them to courage and perseverance. After an obstinate resistance, the town capitulated on honourable terms.

The legate had come from Rome to act as judge between the Patriarch of Antioch and the bishops. It is not easy to make out how these quarrels arose, nor is it edifying to relate the progress of squabbles which were chiefly ecclesiastical. Alberic of Ostia had been recalled, and a new legate, Peter, Archbishop of Lyons, sent out in his stead. The charges against the patriarch were chiefly that he refused to submit to Rome. William of Tyre gives the whole story of the trial and consequent deposition of the patriarch. He was taken to a monastery as a prisoner, and kept there for some time, but succeeded in escaping to Rome, where he pleaded his own cause, and was on the point of being reinstated, when he died of poison.

In the last year of King Fulke three important fortresses were built, that of Kerak in Moab, that of Ibelin, and that on Tell es Safiyeh. The fortress of Ibelin, about ten miles from Ascalon, was on the traditional site of Gath. The citadel built on Tell es Safiyeh, about eight miles from Ascalon, and called Blanchegarde, was made the strongest place in Palestine, and played an important part in the subsequent wars.

One day in 1144, Fulke, walking with the queen in the neighbourhood of Acre, put up a hare in the grass. Calling for a horse and a lance, he rode after it; and the horse falling, brought him down with such violence that he fractured his skull. He lingered four days in a state of insensibility, and then died, leaving two sons, of thirteen and seven years respectively, by his wife Milicent.