Chapter V: The Albigensian Crusade (1)

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?