A revival of the fantasy genre in recent years has also brought about a revival of historical fiction set in the Middle Ages. With an endless array of titles, we are sure that you can easily visualise scenes from some Hollywood, TV or streaming service production, in which mounted knights charge at a line of terrified spearmen, tattooed Vikings pillage an unfortunate monastery, or some poor sod gets fried in boiling oil while storming a castle.

Decades ago in popular perception, knights and jesters sported lively colours, a fashionable bob hairstyle, and armour was usually shining. In more recent years, it seems more like Mediaeval Europe is constantly smothered in grey and mud, and knights are more interested in oppressing peasants than abiding to their alleged code of chivalry, which, accurate. See our video Did Any Medieval Knight Ever Rescue a Damsel in Distress.

But for whatever reason, popular culture is besotted with the Middle Ages.

The King. The Queen. The Emperors. The Monarchs. Whether evil or righteous, they are frequently portrayed as wielders of absolute power, whose will and authority are uncontested.

It only takes their word to bestow incredible fortune on the story’s protagonist or redress some criminal wrong. And it only takes their whim to heavily tax the poor, burn down some village, behead a jester whose jokes are no longer funny. Or more directly, to unleash a war for their own gain.

But how much of any of that representation corresponds to reality? What kind of power did a Mediaeval monarch actually have?

To begin with, let’s define what we mean by ‘Middle Ages’. There is no universal consensus amongst historiographers, but the majority tend to agree that this is the period between the fall of the Western Roman Empire, 476 AD, to the fall of Constantinople, in 1453. Given this is a period about 1,000 years long during which nations and empires rose and fell across the planet, while systems of government underwent gradual and profound changes, let’s just say addressing the question of what amount of power was actually wielded by a given monarch in that vast period is rather complex. BUT a complex topic has never stopped us before, so let’s give it a good old college try looking at some of the most notable leaders in England, France, the Holy Roman Emperor, the Abbasid Caliph, as well as the Great Khan of the Mongols, and what kind of power they actually had.

And we begin with a pivotal event that took place on June 15, 1215, when an assembly of English barons asked King John to sign one of the most important documents in human history.

That document was the Magna Carta, today described by the British parliament as

‘The first document to put into writing the principle that the king and his government was not above the law. It sought to prevent the king from exploiting his power, and placed limits of royal authority by establishing law as a power in itself.’

As for the story behind all this, the much maligned John, also known as ‘Lackland’, reigned over England for a whopping 27 years, from 1189 to 1216. In the year before his death, on June 15, 1215, he agreed to signing the aforementioned ‘Great Charter’.

Leading up to all this, John and his Northern and Eastern barons had not exactly been the best of pals. First, he had exacerbated tensions by increasing taxes, necessary to raise an army against France. These individuals may have been happy to forgive him if they’d gone on to win a war and potentially acquire spoils for all to share in. But when France and King Philip II proceeded to wipe the floor with the King John’s forces as happened at the Battle of Bouvines on July 27, 1214, let’s just say the King’s subjects were displeased.

The debacle precipitated the enmity with the barons, which escalated into a full rebellion. Amongst their many gripes, the noblemen resented John’s autocratic and tyrannical rule. As we shall explore later, it was customary in England to involve councils of barons and bishops in lawmaking, something that the ‘Lackland’ had been accused of not doing.

To be fair, John had simply applied the same leadership style of his predecessors of the House of Angevin, his father Henry II, and his brother Richard the Lionheart.

Sometimes, they didn’t consult with the barons.

Sometimes they did!

Sometimes they didn’t, but said they had!

But again, vassals are quicker to forgive a victorious leader who makes them rich with their victories.

In the end, to make peace with his nobility, King John agreed to sign what may be defined as a loose blueprint for modern constitutions. Naturally given the era and who was pushing for the changes, the Charter made little effort to protect the rights of common folk, focusing instead on the rights of the clergy and the large landholders. But it did introduce important concepts, such as protection from illegal imprisonment, exile and confiscation of land, and the introduction of a relatively fair judicial system. Furthermore, it formalised a permanent council of barons, a predecessor to the modern Parliament.

On top of that, to quote the document,

“‘No ‘scutage’ or ‘aid’ may be levied in our kingdom without its general consent, unless it is for the ransom of our person, to make our eldest son a knight, and (once) to marry our eldest daughter. For these purposes only a reasonable ‘aid’ may be levied …

To obtain the general consent of the realm for the assessment of an ‘aid’ – except in the three cases specified above – or a ‘scutage’, we will cause the archbishops, bishops, abbots, earls, and greater barons to be summoned individually by letter.’”

In other words: the King needed the consent of the barons and the clergy before imposing new taxes. And what if the King tried to confiscate goods instead of cash? It stated,

‘No sheriff, royal official, or other person shall take horses or carts for transport from any free man, without his consent … Neither we nor any royal official will take wood for our castle, or for any other purpose, without the consent of the owner.’

Of course, there was always the risk that the judicial system could be manipulated to get rid of adversaries, and confiscate their lands and possessions. Well, not any more in theory, as it states:

‘In future no official shall place a man on trial upon his own unsupported statement, without producing credible witnesses to the truth of it.’

Which is followed by our favourite clause, which reads like a poem:

‘To no one will we sell,

to no one deny, or delay,

right or justice’

The Charter also features interesting articles about freedom of movement:

‘It shall be lawful for any man to leave and return to our kingdom unharmed and without fear, by land or water, preserving his allegiance to us, except in time of war, for some short period, for the common benefit of the realm.’

And then we come to the Council of Barons:

‘The barons shall elect twenty-five of their number to keep, and cause to be observed with all their might, the peace and liberties granted and confirmed to them by this charter.’

So, there you go, some hard checks to prevent the British monarchs from doing as they please!

…Of course, there would be some hiccups, and John himself would almost immediately renegue on his word, begging Pope Innocent III for help – forgetting that the Pontiff had excommunicated him a few years earlier!

In any event, despite all this, the signature of the Magna Carta was a great victory for the barons and set the template for constitutional monarchy. But we should not be swayed into thinking that before 1215 England monarchs held absolute, tyrannical powers. John and the Angevins were more the exception than the rule, and even during their Pre-Carta reigns, they had to keep their despotic tendencies in check.

As to why, it’s important to understand where these individuals derived their powers and what their job was. Specifically, their job description included: governing and administering their kingdom; protecting it from external and internal threats; issuing laws; and ensuring justice was served. To perform these duties, they could, and did, levy taxes on their subjects.

But the legitimacy of their position depended on four sources of power:

First, their subjects. Monarchs needed to be recognised as such, and to be supported by their subjects. As most of their subjects were virtually powerless, in practice this meant that Kings and Queens needed the support of the clergy and the landowners – especially aristocratic landowners, who were also the major providers of military power.

Second, their ancestry. A monarch had to be the direct heir of a previous ruler, or the spouse of an heir.

Third, they needed military power, essentially ‘muscle’ to defend their status as rulers and possessions. Very often, their own position as ruler was the result of a successful invasion or civil war.

Fourth, their power tended to derive from religion. European monarchs needed the backing of the church, and especially the Pope, to claim that it was God’s will if they wore a crown.

In all, if you think about it, this is not terribly different from how rulers today tend to get in power and keep it, albeit, to an extent at least, nixing the ancestry requirement.

But in mediaeval times, three out of four sources of legitimacy and power depended upon external actors to a monarch’s inner circle: the clergy, the landed aristocracy, and the military – the latter two closely intertwined.

Thus, a monarch – even before the Magna Carta – could not go about his or her reigning business without the support of these powerful forces.

As such, the necessary cooperation between the monarch and the barons or similar ruling class was sometimes formalised via a ‘coronation oath’, a practice common in England. The King would swear it at this coronation, and use this oath as a sort of ‘mission statement’, spelling out the general principles to which he would abide.

William the Conqueror’s oath, for example, promised

‘To maintain the Church of God and all Christian people in true peace; to prohibit all orders of men from committing injustice and oppression, and to enjoin the observance of equity and mercy in all judgments’

The Church and the barons, of course, would take note. If the King swayed from his mission statement, they would feel morally justified to rebel. Kings knew it, and thus, in theory at least, imposed themselves a healthy dose of self-restraint. According to Medieval Historian Professor Joel T. Rosenthal,

‘When a king pursued a course of action that flirted too closely with tyranny, or when he appointed men whose origins were thought to debase or sully their positions, he was likely to face noble opposition.’

On top of all this, a European monarch’s actions were also bound to another set of regulations, the so-called ‘feudal contract’.

This was part of the widespread feudal system, itself borne out of a very tangible concern- geography. Kingdoms such as England and France at the time could not be effectively ruled by a single centre of gravitational power, therefore monarchs were forced to decentralise the administrative functions of their government.

Citing again the example of William the Conqueror, the Norman steamroller knew very well that decentralised power was the way to go, and thus divided England into large plots of land, or ‘fiefs’, entrusting them to noblemen or barons, whatever you like to call them.

The barons, in turn, divided their lands into smaller plots, and assigned them to their vassals, who were often knights. Each knight swore fealty to his ‘suzerain’, i.e. the baron, in an act called ‘homage’. As a requirement of this ‘homage, the vassal had to collect taxes on the suzerain’s behalf and provide an agreed number of troops should they be required.

The barons then amassed the taxes, devolving a portion to the King. And just like their knights, the barons were expected to raise a certain number of troops, both skilled knights or part-time men-at-arms when the Kingdom was at war.

At the bottom of the ladder you had peasants, labourers and craftsmen, who just paid taxes to everybody, including the Church.

Through the feudal system, the monarch had thus access to a fairly reliable method to maintain law and order over his realm, to collect revenue, and to raise armies.

The ‘feudal contracts’, however, had to be respected by both parties. For example, when it came to military levies, the King could only ask for a certain number of troops, and for a set number of days in a given year.

A King could slam his fist on the table and angrily demand for more soldiers, sure. But barons could just as well refuse. What would the King do, send an army to impose his will? Not usually under this system as most of his army likely came from the barons themselves.

That said, he could hire mercenaries, right?!?! Well, it’s not so simple once again. No barons on the Crown’s side equaled no taxes, and no taxes meant empty coffers.

That is why European mediaeval monarchs were forced to cooperate with their aristocratic subjects. This cooperation had been a long-standing practice in England since the late 10th Century, since King Aethelstan had instituted the first ‘witan’ or ‘assembly of magnates’, which included bishops, archbishops and ‘thegns’, or landed gentry.

The practice was adopted also by William the Conqueror, who instituted an additional, smaller council of officials and barons which conducted the daily routine of government administration: the ‘curia regis’ or ‘Assembly of the King’.

William’s son, Henry I, recognised the importance of barons in his coronation charter, acknowledging that he had been crowned

‘By the common counsel of the barons of the whole kingdom of England’

He also relied heavily on the advice of the ‘curia regis’, summoning it a total of 27 times over a span of 35 years. Which doesn’t sound like a lot, but it was more than his dad ever did.

By the late 12th Century, the ‘Council of Magnates’, i.e. the successor of the Anglo-Saxon ‘witan’, had grown in importance. So much so that chroniclers referred to it as ‘The Great Council’.

This was summoned whenever the King needed counsel on affairs of state, had to levy a new tax, or enact a new law.

And that’s an important point: lawmaking. As much as Mediaeval monarch wished to wield supreme legislative power, in practice they were limited by their counsellors. Early 13th century cleric and jurist Henry de Bracton wrote

‘Let him, that he be not unbridled, put on the bridle of temperance and the reins of moderation, lest being unbridled, he be drawn toward injustice … The King has a superior, namely, God. Also the law by which he is made King. Also his curia, namely, the earls and barons, because if he is without bridle, that is without law, they ought to put the bridle on him.’

Let’s now look at England’s great rival, France.

By the end of the 12th Century, the authority of the French Crown was arguably weaker than his English counterpart. The feudal system was much stronger, and local lords even had the right to issue their own laws, which completely superseded legislation emanating from Paris.

The French Crown exerted some direct authority only over a small region around the cities of Paris, Orleans and Compiègne, whilst being surrounded by the large holdings, ruled by de-facto independent Counts, or directly controlled by England.

Enter the ‘giga-chad’ of Western Europe, Philip II ‘Augustus’, crowned in 1180 and dying in 1223.

Throughout his reign, this warrior King directly led numerous campaigns against the English and his own vassals to reclaim direct control over France. And indirectly, he contributed to the Crown’s intervention in the Albigensian Crusade of 1209 to 1229. This was a conflict of genocidal proportions, sanctioned by Pope Innocent III against the Cathar heresy in the southern French region of Languedoc. A staunchly independent territory, the prosperous Languedoc was eventually brought under total royal control as a result of the Crusade.

In matters of administration, Philip II was able to put the French nobility in check by allying himself with the local powerful clergy, as well as the rising merchant classes. These budding middle-classes became the emerging powers, especially in larger towns and cities, and were happy to support the Crown financially and militarily.

As Philip gradually eroded the power of barons, he replaced them with a new class of appointed administrators, the bailis, the senechals, and the provosts. These officials were in charge of collecting taxes, recruiting troops and administering justice.

But, of course, power is always a negotiated commodity, and even Philip had to involve his aristocracy in the running of the country. Philip had inherited from his father Louis VII an institution akin to England’s ‘Council of Magnates’ or ‘Great Council’. This was the ‘Royal Council’, an assembly of aristocrats and bishops.

Philip made it permanent, and expanded it by including a Chancellor in charge of government administration, and even clerks of non-aristocratic origin. The Council provided, well, counsel, to the King in matters of internal policy, foreign relations and war. Moreover, this assembly participated in the drafting of legislation, which finally overruled the plethora of locally-issued laws.

Philip, nonetheless, always maintained a high degree of control over his Royal Council, as its size and composition were entirely subject to his discretion. After Philip’s death, his successors found it necessary to expand the size of the Council, hiring large numbers of clerics with legal knowledge. Eventually, in 1239, this group of experts became a separate body, becoming the first incarnation of the French Parliament.

Such levels of centralisation were unheard of in France’s neighbour, the Holy Roman Empire, where the feudal system was ramped up to 11. Centuries later, philosopher Voltaire would famously describe it as such:

‘The Holy Roman Empire was in no way holy, nor Roman, nor an empire’

With its large population and land mass, roughly corresponding to today’s Germany and neighbouring territories, the Holy Roman Empire had the potential to easily outclass other European states of the early 13th Century.

But despite the best efforts of its nominal emperors, it never became a centralised nation, remaining a loose union of disparate states.

The Emperors maintained direct control only over a small fraction of their dominion, called the ‘Reichsgut’.

The remainder of the Empire was directly and independently administered by a collection of Dukes, Counts, Marquesses and high-ranking clergymen, collectively known as ‘Princes’. The emperors could call upon them for support in matters of war and foreign policy, but in exchange they had to progressively devolve more and more of their power.

We should also point out that the emperor himself was elected by the Princes, meaning that a prospective candidate had to dish out favours and promises if he wanted their vote.

In 1220, Frederick II of Hohenstaufen was elected to the throne. He is widely regarded as one of the most intelligent, effective and progressive monarchs of his time, with the right vision to build a modern, centralised state. But Frederick was also the sovereign of the Kingdom of Sicily, in Southern Italy, and that’s where he focused most of his attention and reforms. To keep the Princes happy north of the Alps, Frederick had to extend and formalise the amount of their power, which he did so by signing the self-explanatory ‘Statute in favour of the Princes’.

In this document, the local rulers of the Holy Roman Empire were referred for the first time as

‘Owners of their own lands’

Which essentially relinquished almost all executive power into their hands.

Let’s take a breather to recap now.

European monarchs’ powers were limited to a higher or lesser degree by the oaths and contracts negotiated with their ruling classes. The extent of these limits depended on the sovereign’s own strategic vision, goals, ambitions, and access to resources. The balance of power between the centre and the periphery thus manifested via the councils of magnates and the feudal administrative system.

We should mention at this stage that the feudal system addressed the issue of delocalised administration, sure, but it may have borne out of external economic pressure, exerted by Islamic expansion.

This is according to Dr Basrowi, Lampung University, and Dr Ajat Sudrajat, University of Jakarta, Indonesia. In their paper Islam and European Feudalism in the Mid-Century, they argue that early Islamic expansion across the Middle East, North Africa, Spain and Southern Italy, cut off much of Europe from lucrative trade routes with said territories.

‘Since the Muslims dominated the Mediterranean Sea in the 8th century, European economy had a drastic deterioration … commerce was ruined or nearly dead. The fall of commerce in this field had pushed Europe to reuse land as a life source.’

In other words, the two scholars describe how feudalism was instituted as a viable way to maintain the productivity of agricultural land, thus ensuring the self-sufficiency of European kingdoms in the absence of foreign commerce. It is an interesting argument, which raises the question of whether feudalism was a system imposed for administrative reasons, or developed to address economic pressure from the Muslim world.

In the second case, we might go one step forward and posit that the Muslim expansion created the system which curtailed the absolute power of European rulers.

In the 11th century, the Italian Maritime Republics – Pisa, Amalfi, Genoa and Venice – resumed trade with the Islamic polities in the Mediterranean. According to the Indonesian scholars, the reawakening of commerce diversified the European economy, initiating the gradual and slow decline of the feudal system. Italian-driven trade also propelled the banking sector, of which Florence was one of the early major centres.

With a diversified economy, declining feudal system, and easy access to cash loans from banks, eventually European monarchs were less reliant on the consensus of barons, and were able to centralise their government apparatus – and their powers.

But we are venturing into the late- and post-Mediaeval eras, so we’ll stop there.

But at this point, we have mentioned the Islamic world, so we’ll take the cue to evaluate the amount of power wielded by rulers in those regions, focusing on the Abbasid Caliphate.

In the Muslim world, a Caliphate is roughly equivalent to an Empire in European terms. The first Islamic Caliphate was the Umayyad one, which propelled the early Islamic expansion in the Mediterranean from the year 661 to 750. After its collapse, the Umayyad empire was replaced by the Abbasid Caliphate. The latter, too, fractured in 861, but was consolidated again in 1118, centred around Baghdad. This Abbasid revival lasted until 1258, and its most successful ruler was Caliph Abū al-Abbās Aḥmad ibn al-Hasan al-Mustaḍi.

Also known as Al-Nasir, or ‘The One who Gives Victory’, this Caliph ruled from March 1180 to October 1225. So, slap bang in the time period we are focusing on!

So, let’s ask the same question once again: what kind of power did the Caliph have? Well, pretty much absolute, it appears. At least more extensive than the power wielded by his European counterparts.

According to Professors Aftab Hussain Gillani and Mohammad Tahir, Islamia University of Bahawalpur, Pakistan:

‘In theory the Caliph was still subject to the rule of the sharia, the holy law of Islam. But in practice, these checks on his authority were not effective since there was no machinery other than revolt for its enforcement. The Abbasid caliphate was thus a despotism based on military force claiming almost divine right to rule.’

The Abbasid Caliphs upheld their legitimacy by defining themselves as

‘The vicegerent of God (Khalifatuallah) and God’s shadow on the earth (Zillallahi ala’l -ard)’

Thus the Pakistani Professors define Caliph Al-Nasir as

‘An autocrat claiming a divine origin for his authority, resting it on a salaried bureaucracy.’

But this despot applied healthy principles of meritocracy:

‘Pedigree was no help to advancement, but only the favour of the sovereign, and an official hierarchy thus replaced the Arab aristocracy.’

The Abbasids rulers, and Caliph Al-Nasir in particular, took much inspiration from the ruling practices and the bureaucracy of the Sassanid Empire, modern-day Iran. Thus, Al-Nasir hired many Persian administrators, and welcomed talent from other non-Arab regions, including non-Muslims.

However absolute, the rule of the Caliph required the employment of regional and local governors. Unlike European barons, who inherited their title from their parents, local Abbasid governors had to be appointed directly by the Caliph, via a ‘deed of investiture’. This method favoured meritocracy, but it also ensured that the territories of the Caliphate would be administered by loyal officials, a direct projection of the sovereign’s power.

Local officials, once appointed, had pretty much free reign in how they administered their cities and regions, especially if distant from the capital Baghdad. The central government only interfered when trouble was brewing, or when the taxes went unpaid. .

Another difference from European kingdoms was the centralisation of military power:

‘The army, too, belonged to the court, the nucleus of it being concentrated in the Caliph’s residence.’

European kingdoms still relied on baron’s armies for funding and manpower, while the Abbasid Caliphate was already able to pay for and maintain a centralised military. How could they afford so much cash?

Well, first of all the Abbasid Caliphate controlled some of the most lucrative land trade routes in the world, as it was strategically placed along the legendary Silk Road.

Then, came the worldwide and well-established tradition of rapine war, i.e. raiding enemy territory to plunder their riches.

Next, good old boring taxation.

And when the Caliph was short on cash, he could apply the practice of Iqta, sometimes mistakenly described as equivalent to the feudal system. The Iqta was actually a land grant, awarded to army officers for limited periods of time. The lands granted as part of the Iqta were owned by non-Muslims, who paid the kharaj, a type of property tax.

The original owners of the land in question legally maintained their property, but paid the kharaj to the officer who had received the Iqta grant. The officer pocketed the kharaj, then paid a smaller tithe to the Caliph, keeping the balance as his salary.

Now, the Abbasid armies, however well funded, were largely composed of mercenary troops. Which might pose a risk in themselves to the absolute rule of the monarch. What if they asked for a pay raise? What if they become too powerful, an empire in their own right? Better keep them under control!

For this reason, the Abbasid Caliph devolved part of his military power to a newly instituted official, the ‘shahna’, translated as ‘commissary’ or ‘military governor’, who also had

‘The duty of keenly watching the moves of the game on the part of [the Caliph’s] rivals’

To be precise, Abbasid forces were not entirely in the palm of the Caliph or his ‘shahna’.

Large, peripheral regions could be entrusted to a specially appointed ruler, a Sultan. Sultans had almost total sovereignty over their territory, so much so that their title could be inherited. They could also raise and command armies on their own, and even wage war as they saw fit. A well-known example is the Sultan of Egypt and Syria, Saladin: while formally subordinate to Al-Nasir,, had the agency to initiate numerous wars against European Crusaders and rival Muslim dynasties.

Besides military authority, Al-Nasir and his predecessors also devolved part of their executive power to the ‘Wazir’ or Minister, often rendered in the west as ‘Vizier’.

(That’s Jafar, basically!)

‘The Wazir stood next to the caliph and acted as his alter ego … vested with absolute and

unfettered discretion in all matters concerning the state. With the help of their … wazirs, the Abbasids were able to streamline the existing administrative structure.’

In 1258, the Abbasid Caliphate collapsed under the attacks of a Mongol ruler called Hülegü, who happened to be the grandson of Temujin, better known as Genghis Khan, or ‘universal ruler’.

Temujin had founded the Mongol empire in 1206, becoming its first Khagan, or emperor. Between that date and his death in 1227, the Mongol dominion expanded into the largest contiguous land empire in history, extending from the Pacific Ocean to the Danube river.

That makes him the most powerful monarch we discussed so far, sure. But ruling over such vast and diverse lands is no easy task.

As much as he was swift and ruthless in battle, Temujin was not a full-on despot, who relied on meritocracy, a well-oiled administration, and a complex source of legitimacy, blending divine authority with pragmatic law-making.

Let’s first address local government. According to Professor Beverly May Carl, Dedman School of Law, Dallas, Genghis Khan had little interest in directly ruling over every single conquered land, as long as it provided revenue.

His empire’s provinces were managed via a military-feudal system, in which authority was entrusted to commanders who had proved themselves on the battlefield, or capable civilian officials. Very often, the latter were recruited amongst the conquered population, provided they had the right leadership skills. Local governorships were not inherited, and new local administrators had to earn their position.

Provincial governments enjoyed a certain degree of autonomy, as it respected the customs and religious practices of the subjects. Yet, they were still expected to enact a number of provisions mandated from Temujin’s court, relayed by an army of fast messengers on horseback. These messengers had access to supply stations placed at regular intervals along the many roads of the empire, and took less than one month to traverse the length of the Khaganate.

Temujin’s central court provided services similar to the European councils of magnates or the Caliphate’s officials. This body was organised over two main layers: an inner circle, composed of Temujin’s ‘urugh’, or ‘Golden Kin’. His family, in other words.

Before you scream: ‘hang on, what about meritocracy, then?’ – allow us to clarify. The second layer of central administration was entrusted to professional clerks and officials. At the start of Temujin’s rule, these were picked amongst hostages kidnapped from rival clans, but later the Khagan imported talent from China, Persia, and other subject territories.

While serving the vision of Temujin, these two layers also contributed to keeping him in check. The Khagan had to weigh in the contributions and goals of several disparate factions, and thus his government style was never autocratic.

Which brings us to the question of legitimacy. Temujin and his Golden Kin firmly believed that their right to rule had a divine origin, as the ‘Blue Eternal Heaven’ had bequeathed them the World, for them to conquer.

According to Prof Carl, however, Temujin did not consider himself to be anointed by God, let alone his ‘viceregent’ on Earth – unlike European or Muslim monarchs.

If Temujin was to be subjected to a higher authority, that would be his own Great Law, a legal body drawn from the customs and traditions of nomadic tribes, as well as the pre-existing laws of conquered nations.

The Great Law contained legislation which errs a tad on the draconian side, such as imposing the death penalty on cattle rustlers. But it also had some rather progressive concepts for its time. The most important of which was that nobody, not even the Khagan or his Golden Kin, were exempt from the Great Law.

This all brings us to a slightly different kind of monarch of a sort who on the surface had very little way of enforcing his will, but arguably was one of the most powerful individuals in the world during his reign. This individual directly controlled only a small territory in central Italy, had a very small military and lacked what we would call today ‘power projection’, at least in traditional terms. Moreover, he was an elected monarch, with no possibility to sire official heirs.

We are referring to the Pope of the Catholic Church.

In the period we have taken into consideration, this position was filled by two formidable individuals, Innocent III and Honorius III. Despite the limitations of their temporal power, these rulers were recognised by Catholic monarchs and barons as successors of Saint Peter, and heads of the Church.

As such, they could wield and project an enormous amount of influence over worldwide affairs. Some of the most notable tools at the Popes’ disposals included:

Excommunication. Described by Britannica as a

‘Form of ecclesiastical censure by which a person is excluded from the communion of believers, the rites or sacraments of a church, and the rights of church membership but not necessarily from membership in the church as such’

Considering that European monarchs often based their legitimacy on the Catholic faith, being excommunicated was quite a big deal. As mentioned earlier, King John begged Pope Innocent III for forgiveness in 1215, after a previous quarrel had led to his excommunication.

Which leads us to the second tool:

Vassalage!

As a prerequisite for revoking excommunication, Innocent effectively placed John under his vassalage, requiring the payment of an annual tax of 1,000 marks.

If a monarch brushed off excommunication, and refused to become a vassal of the Pope, the Pontiff could issue an act of

Deposition!

In other words: declaring that a monarch or baron no longer had the right to rule, and their lands were up for grabs! The principle of deposition was developed by the Papacy at the end of the 12th century, with Innocent and Honorius being the first to use it as a threat.

In particular, they used it to threaten rulers accused of being heretics, or simply of failing to persecute heresy. In a notable example, in 1217 Honorius III wrote to King James I of Aragon, scolding him for his support of Cathar heretics in French Languedoc. Should the King continue to do so, the Pope would declare Aragon open to invasion.

Which leads nicely to the most spectacular and visible of Papal ‘power tools’:

Calling for a Crusade!

Cathars and their local allies had been fighting against crusader forces since 1209, when Innocent III had issued a call for a Crusade against them. In very basic terms, it only took for a Pontiff to write a letter along the lines of

‘Whomsoever fights in a holy Crusade against the infidels and/or the heretics for a period of 40 days, shall be absolved of all sins’

And boom! Just like that, thousands of professional knights, men-at-arms and improvised soldiers with apparently guilty consciousness would rock up in Southern France or the Levant, ready to skewer, or be skewered by, the enemies of Catholicism.

Throughout their rule, the two Popes directly initiated three major conflicts: the 4th and 5th Crusades against Muslim states in the Levant, and the Albigensian Crusade. The 4th Crusade was a complete FUBAR, ending with the devastation of Byzantium. While the Albigensian Crusade resulted in an estimated one million deaths, and the almost total annihilation of Languedoc culture of Southern France.

So, yeah – pretty powerful guys. But how much of that was unbridled power?

Just like the other monarchs mentioned so far, the Popes, too, listened to the advice of an assembly, in this case their Curia, composed of Cardinals. Honorius III, in particular, placed great importance on the counsel of these prelates.

And, according to Dr Benedict Wiedemann, University College London, it was through the Curia that European rulers could exert their own influence over Papal affairs. Many of the Cardinals comprising the Curia also served, or had served, as nuncios, or Papal legates abroad. While working in the European capitals, some of these ambassadors had developed close relationships with monarchs, barons, even knights.

Thus, when the prelates were summoned to the Curia, their friends abroad could take the occasion to plead for their favour, steering Papal policies in a favourable direction. In other words, as much as the likes of Innocent and Honorius could exert control across Europe, their own decisions may have been influenced by other leaders.

But summing up all of this, the tyrannical, all-powerful, Mediaeval monarch is a bit of an exaggeration brought about by popular culture. Granted, especially in movies, it is easier and more entertaining to portray characters with absolute agency, rather than filming lengthy scenes of negotiations in which a King or a Kaghan has to moderate the opinions of dozens of barons or salaried clerks.

Now, up to a point they could have their way with the plebeians to an extent, at least until some evolution in law that occurred throughout all this, but a great way to piss off a baron would be to mess with his subjects too much, thereby potentially hurting his own labour force and ability to do his thing, let alone if extreme enough fermenting a peasant revolt, which is never good for business. From this, you might be unsurprised to learn that the Braveheart idea of Jus Primae Noctis, right of the ruler to sleep with any bride on her wedding night, does not have ever appeared to have been a real thing either. While subjects weren’t exactly generally treated well, there were limits to what even humans back then would tolerate from their rulers. The barons needed the people’s support to an extent. And the king needed the barons’ support, so none of them could get along very long pissing off their underlings too much.

That said, as we covered in depth in our video: Did Any Medieval Knights Ever Rescue a Damsel in Distress, let’s just say neighbouring barons attacking an enemy’s land were happy to slaughter and maim the lower classes on a whim, often precisely because it hurt their enemy’s standing amongst their own subjects and took away some of their labour forces. Afterall, one of the main points of even the barons was to keep the common man relatively safe from such things.

As an example of this sort of thing and how common it appears to have been, we have one 12th century chronicler Orderic Vitalis extolling the virtues of a knight for choosing NOT to slaughter a large group of peasants. As outlined in historian Catherine Hanley’s book War and Combat, 1150-1270: “he describes a raiding expedition undertaken by a young knight, during which his men destroy the homes of a group of peasants and kill their livestock. The peasants themselves flee to huddle around a cross; the knight spares their lives, and this charitable deed, according to [Vitalis] deserves to be remembered forever.”

Indeed, so brave; so noble.

In contrast, a 12th century knight and lord Waleran Count of Mellent was noted as simply cutting off one of the feet of any peasants he encountered while in his enemies’ lands. The idea being that lord now had not only just lost a useful worker, but also had an extra crippled and unhappy individual on his hands to manage, assuming the individual survived the de-feeting encounter with Count Waleran.

But going back to the kings and queens, mediaeval monarchs also had to contend with some very practical headaches when it came to administering their lands. They could not project their central authority everywhere at once, thus they needed to keep their vassals and administrators on their side, so that they could govern locally on their stead.

They also needed money, so, once again, they needed the cooperation of a delocalised structure to bring in those sweet tithes and taxes.

And they needed soldiers to wage wars! Thus, monarchs were careful not to rub their vassals the wrong way, lest they refused to fund and raise new levies.

The Abbasid Caliph and the Mongol Kaghan may have enjoyed more direct control and power over their Empires, thanks to larger, centrally funded, professional or semi-professional armies who could enforce their rule. Nonetheless, they still had to delegate part of their power to courts of skilled advisors, networks of decentralised governors, and military commanders. All of whom had to be kept happy lest they stage a rebellion!

Besides, as was the case of Temujin, they may have chosen not to place themselves above the Law.

The case of the Papacy in the early 13th Century is an interesting and rather unique one due to the skill of the individual Popes and their ability to combine a very effective set of tools. But their own power was subject to the influence of their cardinals, and external pressure from other rulers as well. In all cases a delicate dance between monarchs and their wealthy underlings, and the underlings with their subjects in the dust whose labours everything else was built on.

So, in conclusion: did mediaeval monarchs wield great amounts of power?

Sure, they were unelected Heads of State, Heads of Government, Heads of the Army and Chief Legislators after all. But their power was a result of a constant negotiation with those who advised them, funded them and fought for them, and thus subject to some level of checks and balances, even if by modern standards, rather insufficient in many respects.

BONUS FACT

We mentioned court jesters a couple of times, so it was interesting to discover how they were actually treated by their employers. Pretty well, it turns out.

According to chronicler Thomas Blount, writing in 1679, during the reign of either King Henry I or Henry II of England, a certain jester called Roland enjoyed particular favour at court. So much so, that for his services, he had been rewarded with a country manor in Hemingston, Suffolk, surrounded by 110 acres of land.

But there was a catch: Roland had to pay rent. Not in cash, mind you but by performing one job, once a year at Christmas:

‘Before our Sovereign Lord the King of England he should perform at the same time and only once, one jump, one whistle, and one fart’

It appears that this privilege was revoked, and either Roland and his successors had to pay an annual rent of 26 shillings and 8 pence. But for a good amount of time, Roland the Jester, aka Roland the Farter, was allowed to live in a sweet pad in Southern England at the cost of one fart per year!

Much more on the life of a court jester can be found in our video: What was it actually like to be a court jester in mediaeval times?

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