Modern-day media typically presents Templar Knights as hate-filled fanatics, frothing with rage, and charging recklessly into combat. This is certainly the impression given by many contemporary books and films on the subject, but is this verdict accurate?
One event frequently invoked to support this kind of characterisation is the Battle of Cresson. This encounter took place on 1 March 1187, only a few short months before Saladin’s decisive victory over the Kingdom of Jerusalem at the Battle of Hattin. At Cresson – so we are told – the Templar master, Gerard of Ridefort, persuaded 140 Templar and Hospitaller knights to charge a large raiding force despatched by Saladin, composed of 7,000 horsemen, willingly taking on odds of 50:1.
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Needless to say, the resulting encounter was catastrophic; almost the entire force died in battle, with the Hospitaller master among the fallen. Only three knights survived, including – ironically – Gerard of Ridefort himself. What better example could demonstrate the Templars’ astonishing recklessness in war, rooted – as modern-day commentators inform us – in the conviction that God would give them victory in holy war, irrespective of the size of the opposing force?
This story has been repeated many times, and certainly it chimes well with the Templars’ modern reputation. The drama it evokes of the ‘few against the many’ and the clear object lesson it provides, illustrating fanaticism overpowering common sense, has proved irresistible, even to some historians. However, there are several significant problems, both with this account of the Battle of Cresson and its role as an indicator of the Templars’ broader warcraft.
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In many other encounters, the Templars behaved very differently on campaign, their conduct often characterised by persistent caution and restraint. Time and again, the task fell to the Templars and Hospitallers to dissuade newly arrived crusaders from seeking chivalric glory through rash actions on the battlefield, counselling them instead to show discipline and prudence. Indeed, some of the biggest operational failures during major crusading campaigns occurred precisely because commanders chose to ignore the Templars’ and Hospitallers’ advice. This was certainly the case in 1239, during the Barons’ Crusade, when a substantial part of a major crusading army waved aside the military orders’ guidance and advanced into a narrow valley, where it became cut off and destroyed. A century earlier, during the Second Crusade’s crossing of Anatolia (1148), King Louis VII actually yielded control over his entire army – something that almost never happened – to the Templars because he could not hold the army together himself in the face of ongoing attacks. These examples paint a very different image of the Templars’ conduct in war (and many other similar instances could be supplied).
So which of these two images is closer to reality: prudence or recklessness? Or is it some mixture of the two? Let’s return to the Battle of Cresson. The account of the battle summarised above comes from a complex source commonly referred to as the Lyon Eracles, as well as some other linked variant texts, which offer this highly critical account of Gerard and his behaviour. The Lyon Eracles was one of many interconnected histories written to continue the famous chronicle of the Kingdom of Jerusalem, authored by Archbishop William of Tyre. Archbishop William’s work covers events up to the year 1184, and the continuations pick up the narrative thereafter. The Lyon continuation, however, is highly problematic in its reporting of these events for several reasons, and its account of Cresson requires scrutiny.
The Battle of Cresson, miniature by Jean Colombe, in Passages d’outremer ca. 1474
The Lyon Eracles was composed a long time after Cresson, in the mid-thirteenth century (alarm bell one), and notably some of the earlier continuations of William of Tyre’s chronicle, telling the story of Cresson closer to the event, offer little or no criticism of Gerard’s actions (alarm bell two). A third alarm bell is the fact that many other accounts of Gerard’s life describe his character and career in glowing terms, painting a very different portrait to the hothead offered by the Lyon Eracles.
More importantly, several other authors closer to the event describe the battle rather differently, most importantly the well-informed writer Arnold of Lübeck. Pooling Arnold’s history with insights gleaned from several other sources, a different version of the battle emerges, which tends in a rather different direction.
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According to this revised account, Gerard and his company heard news that there was a raiding force in their vicinity. Consequently, he sent out scouts to determine their numbers and precise location. The scouts returned soon afterwards, reporting the presence of a fairly small force, which Gerard felt he could manage with the forces at his disposal, so he ordered an advance. Unfortunately for Gerard, however, he was acting on inaccurate information.
The Muslim commander Muẓaffer al-Dīn Kūkburī used the small detachment encountered by Gerard’s scouts (around one-fifth of his troops) as bait, instructing them to fall back in front of the Templars’ and Hospitallers’ main advance, leading them into a pursuit that ended ultimately in an ambush arranged by his main cavalry force. This was a standard stratagem for the era, often referred to today as ‘feigned-flight tactics’, and notably Kūkburī’s own father adopted a very similar approach in 1164 when fighting the northern Crusader State, the Principality of Antioch. Kūkburī’s plan worked very well, and Gerard’s force walked straight into his trap. Apparently, the resulting battle was close-fought, but it ended with a substantial defeat for the Templars and Hospitallers.
This revised account of the battle presents matters very differently. Far from being the impetuous hothead, Gerard comes across as far more measured – much more in keeping with the Templar order’s ethos in general. Rather than being a fool, he took proper precautions but was simply outmanoeuvred by a superior commander; a less dramatic but substantially more plausible version.
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The Battle of Cresson is frequently invoked as ‘Exhibit A’ for Gerard’s foolhardiness, but similar accusations surround his conduct a few months later on the eve of the Battle of Hattin. In the great council before this major encounter, Gerard apparently offered equally impetuous advice, advising the King of Jerusalem to lead his main army into a waterless zone in an attempt to engage Saladin’s far larger army and thereby relieve the besieged town of Tiberias. The implication is that – again – Gerard counselled rash aggression with disastrous results.
Certainly, the outcome was a major defeat, yet at the time when he offered this advice, Gerard couldn’t have known the outcome. The Kingdom of Jerusalem's army had a great deal of experience moving through waterless zones (including marches lasting many days). It was also adept at cutting a path through opposing forces, so as to reach a destination. It achieved this by adopting a fighting march formation, which was rather like the famous ‘Roman tortoise’, except that the entire army was arrayed in this way, not just a single unit. Fighting marches proved very effective for Frankish armies previously, even when facing superior odds, with some armies even cutting a path straight through opposing forces.
By contrast, Muslim commanders experienced enormous difficulties trying to use their light cavalry archers to cause any real damage to the Franks’ serried marching lines of shields backed by companies of crossbowmen. Gerard's goal in advocating his proposed strategy was not to defeat Saladin per se, but to reach the besieged town of Tiberias, and there is no particular reason – based on the kingdom’s previous track record – to doubt that they could achieve this goal; they had done this kind of thing many times before.
What Gerard didn’t know was that, on this occasion, Saladin had devised a countermeasure that proved highly effective. Essentially, he seems to have expanded his formations of heavily armoured troops, which were capable of meeting the Franks in hand-to-hand combat and therefore stopping their fighting march in its tracks. In this way, again, Gerard's actions proved ruinous in the event, yet this really only becomes clear with the benefit of hindsight, and at the time he was merely advocating a standard course of action.
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Gerard will never be remembered as a great commander, but the accusations of recklessness have been overplayed. Rather, he operated according to the received military wisdom of his day, but in 1187 he was outperformed on two important occasions. All of the above should not necessarily imply that the Templars never acted in an incautious manner; there was an occasion in 1261 when the Templar marshal Stephen of Cissy launched a night raid to the east of Lake Tiberias that went badly wrong, and he was censured for his actions soon afterwards. Nevertheless, this was very much the exception.
Taken overall, the Templars knew very well that they didn’t have many troops in the Crusader States and that it was difficult and expensive for them to replace losses. They fought as heavy cavalry, and this battlefield role necessitated an element of risk, yet in many scenarios their military doctrine was characterised by restraint. As the contemporary author Usama Ibn Munqidh commented about the Franks as a whole, they are ‘the most cautious of all men in war’. In most cases, he was absolutely correct, and the Templars typify his characterisation. My sense from having reviewed the Templars’ behaviour in numerous scenarios is that they did indeed bring a strong sense of pious commitment to the battlefield, but pragmatically they also realised that their goals were best served by carefully weighing up a situation, rather than charging headlong into defeat.
By Nicholas Morton
Modern-day media typically presents Templar Knights as hate-filled fanatics, frothing with rage, and charging recklessly into combat. This is certainly the impression given by many contemporary books and films on the subject, but is this verdict accurate?
One event frequently invoked to support this kind of characterisation is the Battle of Cresson. This encounter took place on 1 March 1187, only a few short months before Saladin’s decisive victory over the Kingdom of Jerusalem at the Battle of Hattin. At Cresson – so we are told – the Templar master, Gerard of Ridefort, persuaded 140 Templar and Hospitaller knights to charge a large raiding force despatched by Saladin, composed of 7,000 horsemen, willingly taking on odds of 50:1.
Needless to say, the resulting encounter was catastrophic; almost the entire force died in battle, with the Hospitaller master among the fallen. Only three knights survived, including – ironically – Gerard of Ridefort himself. What better example could demonstrate the Templars’ astonishing recklessness in war, rooted – as modern-day commentators inform us – in the conviction that God would give them victory in holy war, irrespective of the size of the opposing force?
This story has been repeated many times, and certainly it chimes well with the Templars’ modern reputation. The drama it evokes of the ‘few against the many’ and the clear object lesson it provides, illustrating fanaticism overpowering common sense, has proved irresistible, even to some historians. However, there are several significant problems, both with this account of the Battle of Cresson and its role as an indicator of the Templars’ broader warcraft.
In many other encounters, the Templars behaved very differently on campaign, their conduct often characterised by persistent caution and restraint. Time and again, the task fell to the Templars and Hospitallers to dissuade newly arrived crusaders from seeking chivalric glory through rash actions on the battlefield, counselling them instead to show discipline and prudence. Indeed, some of the biggest operational failures during major crusading campaigns occurred precisely because commanders chose to ignore the Templars’ and Hospitallers’ advice. This was certainly the case in 1239, during the Barons’ Crusade, when a substantial part of a major crusading army waved aside the military orders’ guidance and advanced into a narrow valley, where it became cut off and destroyed. A century earlier, during the Second Crusade’s crossing of Anatolia (1148), King Louis VII actually yielded control over his entire army – something that almost never happened – to the Templars because he could not hold the army together himself in the face of ongoing attacks. These examples paint a very different image of the Templars’ conduct in war (and many other similar instances could be supplied).
So which of these two images is closer to reality: prudence or recklessness? Or is it some mixture of the two? Let’s return to the Battle of Cresson. The account of the battle summarised above comes from a complex source commonly referred to as the Lyon Eracles, as well as some other linked variant texts, which offer this highly critical account of Gerard and his behaviour. The Lyon Eracles was one of many interconnected histories written to continue the famous chronicle of the Kingdom of Jerusalem, authored by Archbishop William of Tyre. Archbishop William’s work covers events up to the year 1184, and the continuations pick up the narrative thereafter. The Lyon continuation, however, is highly problematic in its reporting of these events for several reasons, and its account of Cresson requires scrutiny.
The Lyon Eracles was composed a long time after Cresson, in the mid-thirteenth century (alarm bell one), and notably some of the earlier continuations of William of Tyre’s chronicle, telling the story of Cresson closer to the event, offer little or no criticism of Gerard’s actions (alarm bell two). A third alarm bell is the fact that many other accounts of Gerard’s life describe his character and career in glowing terms, painting a very different portrait to the hothead offered by the Lyon Eracles.
More importantly, several other authors closer to the event describe the battle rather differently, most importantly the well-informed writer Arnold of Lübeck. Pooling Arnold’s history with insights gleaned from several other sources, a different version of the battle emerges, which tends in a rather different direction.
According to this revised account, Gerard and his company heard news that there was a raiding force in their vicinity. Consequently, he sent out scouts to determine their numbers and precise location. The scouts returned soon afterwards, reporting the presence of a fairly small force, which Gerard felt he could manage with the forces at his disposal, so he ordered an advance. Unfortunately for Gerard, however, he was acting on inaccurate information.
The Muslim commander Muẓaffer al-Dīn Kūkburī used the small detachment encountered by Gerard’s scouts (around one-fifth of his troops) as bait, instructing them to fall back in front of the Templars’ and Hospitallers’ main advance, leading them into a pursuit that ended ultimately in an ambush arranged by his main cavalry force. This was a standard stratagem for the era, often referred to today as ‘feigned-flight tactics’, and notably Kūkburī’s own father adopted a very similar approach in 1164 when fighting the northern Crusader State, the Principality of Antioch. Kūkburī’s plan worked very well, and Gerard’s force walked straight into his trap. Apparently, the resulting battle was close-fought, but it ended with a substantial defeat for the Templars and Hospitallers.
This revised account of the battle presents matters very differently. Far from being the impetuous hothead, Gerard comes across as far more measured – much more in keeping with the Templar order’s ethos in general. Rather than being a fool, he took proper precautions but was simply outmanoeuvred by a superior commander; a less dramatic but substantially more plausible version.
The Battle of Cresson is frequently invoked as ‘Exhibit A’ for Gerard’s foolhardiness, but similar accusations surround his conduct a few months later on the eve of the Battle of Hattin. In the great council before this major encounter, Gerard apparently offered equally impetuous advice, advising the King of Jerusalem to lead his main army into a waterless zone in an attempt to engage Saladin’s far larger army and thereby relieve the besieged town of Tiberias. The implication is that – again – Gerard counselled rash aggression with disastrous results.
Certainly, the outcome was a major defeat, yet at the time when he offered this advice, Gerard couldn’t have known the outcome. The Kingdom of Jerusalem's army had a great deal of experience moving through waterless zones (including marches lasting many days). It was also adept at cutting a path through opposing forces, so as to reach a destination. It achieved this by adopting a fighting march formation, which was rather like the famous ‘Roman tortoise’, except that the entire army was arrayed in this way, not just a single unit. Fighting marches proved very effective for Frankish armies previously, even when facing superior odds, with some armies even cutting a path straight through opposing forces.
By contrast, Muslim commanders experienced enormous difficulties trying to use their light cavalry archers to cause any real damage to the Franks’ serried marching lines of shields backed by companies of crossbowmen. Gerard's goal in advocating his proposed strategy was not to defeat Saladin per se, but to reach the besieged town of Tiberias, and there is no particular reason – based on the kingdom’s previous track record – to doubt that they could achieve this goal; they had done this kind of thing many times before.
What Gerard didn’t know was that, on this occasion, Saladin had devised a countermeasure that proved highly effective. Essentially, he seems to have expanded his formations of heavily armoured troops, which were capable of meeting the Franks in hand-to-hand combat and therefore stopping their fighting march in its tracks. In this way, again, Gerard's actions proved ruinous in the event, yet this really only becomes clear with the benefit of hindsight, and at the time he was merely advocating a standard course of action.
Gerard will never be remembered as a great commander, but the accusations of recklessness have been overplayed. Rather, he operated according to the received military wisdom of his day, but in 1187 he was outperformed on two important occasions. All of the above should not necessarily imply that the Templars never acted in an incautious manner; there was an occasion in 1261 when the Templar marshal Stephen of Cissy launched a night raid to the east of Lake Tiberias that went badly wrong, and he was censured for his actions soon afterwards. Nevertheless, this was very much the exception.
Taken overall, the Templars knew very well that they didn’t have many troops in the Crusader States and that it was difficult and expensive for them to replace losses. They fought as heavy cavalry, and this battlefield role necessitated an element of risk, yet in many scenarios their military doctrine was characterised by restraint. As the contemporary author Usama Ibn Munqidh commented about the Franks as a whole, they are ‘the most cautious of all men in war’. In most cases, he was absolutely correct, and the Templars typify his characterisation. My sense from having reviewed the Templars’ behaviour in numerous scenarios is that they did indeed bring a strong sense of pious commitment to the battlefield, but pragmatically they also realised that their goals were best served by carefully weighing up a situation, rather than charging headlong into defeat.
Nicholas Morton is an Associate Professor of History at Nottingham Trent University in the UK. He is the author or editor of several books covering different aspects of Medieval Near Eastern history, including The Mongol Storm: Making and Breaking Empires in the Medieval Near East.
Click here to read more from Nicholas Morton
Nicholas' online course, The Crusades 1095-1187: A multi-perspective history, begins January 23, 2025. Click here to sign up
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