Third Crusade: Saladin vs. Richard the Lionheart
- Davit Grigoryan
- May 2
- 10 min read
Updated: May 13
The Third Crusade (1189–1192) is a story of ambition, betrayal, and missed opportunities. Richard the Lionheart, Saladin, and Frederick Barbarossa — three monarchs whose decisions shaped the fate of the Holy Land. From the fall of Acre to the triumph at Arsuf, from political intrigues to brutal executions, the internal conflicts among the Crusaders and Saladin’s brilliance ultimately undermined their cause. Why was Jerusalem never reclaimed, despite victories? How did Richard’s capture turn the crusade into a symbol of chivalric tragedy? This article explores the key battles, figures, and reasons why the Third Crusade became a turning point in the history of Christian-Muslim conflict.
Why did the Third Crusade begin? The role of Saladin in 1187
The autumn wind 1188 brought news to Europe that froze even the bravest hearts: Jerusalem had fallen. The golden dome of the Qubbat al-Sakhra, where crusaders once prayed, now reflected the crescent flags of Saladin. When Pope Gregory VIII received the news, he fell to his knees in the Sistine Chapel — the Holy Land was lost. But behind this defeat was not just a military victory, but two decades of clever politics by a man Europe had underestimated.
Saladin, the son of a Kurdish military leader, began his journey in the shadow of the greats. At 16, he rode with the armies of Nur ad-Din as they attacked Damascus, and by the age of 30, he was already setting the rules in Egypt. His secret? He knew how to wait. When Nur ad-Din died in 1174, leaving Syria divided among his sons, Saladin didn’t rush into battle. Instead, he offered the fighting emirs what they were missing: unity. By 1183, his power stretched from the pyramids of Giza to the walls of Aleppo. “He rules not with the sword, but with his mind,” people whispered in the coffee houses of Baghdad.
But Saladin’s true genius showed in something else. He understood that the Crusaders could only be defeated if he became a symbol for all Muslims. When the knight-bandit Raynald of Châtillon attacked a caravan carrying his sister, the sultan didn’t just demand revenge. He declared war on the entire Kingdom of Jerusalem, turning a personal insult into a holy jihad. “They broke the truce — now their cities will turn to dust,” he declared, as he gathered his army by the shores of Lake Tiberias.
While Saladin forged alliances, the Christian principalities looked like a ship without a captain. King Baldwin IV, called the Leper King, was torn between his sickbed and the throne, trying to pass power to his young nephew. His court was like a nest of snakes: Guy of Lusignan, the king’s sister’s husband, fought for power with Raymond of Tripoli, while Patriarch Heraclius spent church money on gifts for his mistresses. Even the Templars, the “shield of Christianity,” played a dangerous game — the knight Robert of St. Albans pretended to convert to Islam to spy on Saladin. But the sultan only smiled: “Let their spies see my strength — it will break their spirit.”
In the summer of 1187, patience ran out. Near the village of Hattin, where Christ had once preached, Saladin’s army surrounded the Crusaders. Heat, smoke from burning grass, and the cries of “Allahu Akbar!” — within a few hours, the 20,000-strong Christian army was no more. There were so many prisoners that slaves were sold for the price of a pair of shoes.
How did Europe prepare for the Third Crusade?
The news of Jerusalem’s fall didn’t reach Europe until 1188, like the echo of a distant catastrophe. Pope Gregory VIII acted decisively, realizing that delay would collapse the Church’s authority. He forbade internal wars between Christian rulers, allowed knights to sell their lands to finance the crusade, and promised forgiveness of sins to all participants. But his main weapon was the cardinals: they walked barefoot through Germany, France, and England, preaching the holy war.
Three monarchs took part in the crusade, whose interests had clashed long before the crusader oaths:
Frederick Barbarossa (68 years old), the Holy Roman Emperor, saw the crusade as an opportunity to strengthen his power.
Philip II Augustus, King of France, sought to weaken England.
Richard the Lionheart, heir to Henry II Plantagenet, whose French territories (Anjou, Aquitaine, Gascony) were formally under Philip's control.
The conflict between England and France became the apple of discord. Henry II, Richard’s father, had been at odds with Philip for years over land. A scandal worsened the situation: rumors spread that Henry had become close to Alice, Philip’s sister and Richard’s fiancée. Humiliated, Richard swore fealty to the French king, effectively betraying his father.
To finance the crusade, Philip II introduced the "Saladin Tithe" — a 10% tax on the income of all classes, including the untouchable clergy. Bishops were outraged: “The Church gives the tithe, not pays it!” But the king insisted — even monasteries were forced to surrender part of their treasures. In England, where Henry II died in 1189, Richard, who ascended the throne, continued the collection.
By 1190, the Crusaders set out, but there was no unified plan:
Frederick Barbarossa led the Germans through Byzantium.
Philip and Richard sailed by sea, but even on the crusade, they competed — their camps were set up separately.
Leopold V of Austria joined later, playing a key role in the siege of Acre.
As the chronicler Rigor wrote: “They did not go to liberate the Holy Sepulchre, but to prove their strength to each other.”
Richard vs. Philip
The summer of 1190. Two kings — Richard of England and Philip of France — set out on the crusade like rival twins. Richard, whose entourage gleamed with gold and diamonds, spent 30 times more on his army than the other monarchs. He mortgaged half of England to pay for this luxury: “Let the stones feed my knights!” he joked, selling castles and forests.
By September 1190, the armies reached Messina. Here, they faced their first setback. Richard, who had declared himself the "protector of his sister's rights" (the widow of the Sicilian King William II), demanded a ransom from the usurper Tancred. The French king barely contained his fury: “We are here to save Jerusalem, not to enrich you!” But Richard didn’t listen — he hosted feasts while his knights plundered the Sicilians. Only the threat of a rebellion forced him to temper his enthusiasm.
By the spring of 1191, the alliance had broken down. Philip, realizing that Richard sought glory rather than victory, sailed to Acre. Meanwhile, the English king was caught in a storm near Cyprus. His fiancée, Berengaria of Navarre, was captured by the local usurper, Isaac Comnenus. Richard, ever the romantic, took the island within a month, shackled Isaac in silver chains (a hint at his "royal blood"?), and sold Cyprus to the exiled King of Jerusalem, Guy de Lusignan. "Now I have an island and a vassal without a kingdom," he boasted.
By June 1191, Richard finally arrived at the walls of Acre, where a senseless siege had been underway for two years. The city, already surrounded by the forces of Philip and Leopold of Austria, held no strategic value. But Guy de Lusignan, who had lost his throne, longed for even a small piece of land, and Richard, flattered by his praise, threw his army into battle. "We are taking Acre not for God, but for a vain man without a kingdom," the knights grumbled.
The death of Frederick Barbarossa
In the summer of 1190, the Third Crusade lost its most experienced leader. Emperor Frederick I Barbarossa, whose armies could have changed the course of the war against Saladin, drowned in the Göksu River in Asia Minor. His death became a symbol of a fatal chain of mistakes and betrayals that had started even in the Balkans.
Frederick prepared for the crusade as a strategist, not an adventurer. He signed the Treaty of Nuremberg with Byzantium, which guaranteed safe passage through its lands, and even received assurances from the Seljuks and Saladin. However, the Byzantine Emperor Isaac II Angelos, fearing the strengthening of the Germans, violated the agreement: roads were suddenly destroyed, passes blocked by troops, and provisions for the crusaders were "forgotten." All of this forced Frederick to seek allies among Byzantium's enemies. Serbian ruler Stefan Nemanja and the Bulgarian leaders Peter and Asen offered help in exchange for recognition of their independence. Although avoiding open promises, the emperor accepted the Serbian contingent and allowed a dynastic marriage that strengthened ties with Dalmatia.
These actions angered Isaac II. When the crusaders captured Philippopolis (Plovdiv) and Adrianople, the Byzantines accused them of looting. Frederick's response was harsh: upon finding frescoes in the churches of Gradec depicting Greeks riding Latin knights, the crusaders burned the city and slaughtered the inhabitants. "This is an insult to Christ!" they shouted, not realizing that such cruelty would lose them even the support of their allies. The Hungarian King Bela III, whose troops had been accompanying the Germans, withdrew his forces, outraged by Frederick's ties with the Slavs.
By the spring of 1190, after months of negotiations, Barbarossa finally secured the right to cross into Asia Minor. His army, exhausted from skirmishes with the Seljuks, captured Iconium (Konya), but a fatal trap awaited in Cilicia. On June 10, while crossing the Göksu River, the 70-year-old emperor stumbled. His heavy armor pulled him to the bottom. Frederick's death was a catastrophe: his son, Frederick of Swabia, brought only the shattered remnants of the army to Acre, and they perished from disease, failing to influence the siege.
The death of Barbarossa saved Saladin from his most dangerous enemy. "Allah took him to free us from disaster," Muslims said. For Byzantium, it was a temporary victory—rebellions by the Serbs and Bulgarians, fueled by hopes of an alliance with the Germans, soon deprived Byzantium of its control over the Balkans. But the crusaders lost the most: without Frederick, they never found a leader capable of uniting Europe against Saladin.
The Siege of Acre, 1191: How the Quarrels of Kings Saved Saladin
Since 1188, an endless drama had been unfolding beneath the walls of Acre. Christian forces arrived one by one, like waves crashing against the rocks: some perished under Muslim arrows, others from hunger and plague. The city, encircled by Saladin's army on land and the Crusaders at sea, had become a trap. Even the capture of Acre in July 1191 brought no triumph — only the bitter wound of mutual betrayals.
The Christians, lacking a unified strategy, kept repeating the same mistakes for decades. Timber for siege engines was shipped from Italy, while Saladin, in the meantime, was receiving reinforcements from Mesopotamia. The Crusader camp was torn apart by infighting: Guy de Lusignan, the rightful king of Jerusalem without a kingdom, despised Conrad of Montferrat, who had usurped Tyre. The Italian sailors sided with Conrad, while the English backed Guy. "We’re fighting each other, not Saladin," the soldiers mocked bitterly.
Everything changed in the summer of 1191, when Philip II Augustus and Richard the Lionheart arrived at the walls of Acre. But instead of unity, a new rivalry ignited. Richard, having seized Cyprus, refused to share the spoils with Philip, arguing under the terms of their agreement: "The island was not taken from the Muslims, but from a Byzantine usurper!" The French king, backing Conrad, only added fuel to the fire.
On July 12, the Muslim garrison, exhausted by the two-year siege, agreed to surrender Acre. The terms were harsh: the return of Jerusalem, 2,000 noble hostages, and the payment of tribute. But as soon as the Christians entered the city, the scramble for spoils began. Duke Leopold of Austria, having raised his banner on the wall, provoked Richard’s fury: "Take down that rag!" the king ordered, replacing it with English flags. Humiliated, Leopold swore revenge.
Philip II, accusing Richard of colluding with Saladin (their chivalrous “friendly” embassies had become the talk of the camp), abandoned the army and sailed back to France. Richard was left alone with an empty treasury, an army ravaged by plague, and the hatred of his allies. When Saladin delayed fulfilling the terms, the English king ordered the execution of 2,700 Muslim hostages. In response, Saladin slaughtered the Christian prisoners.
Even victories carried a bitter taste. In captured Acre, the Christians discovered that the local inhabitants — their fellow believers — had lived peacefully alongside the Muslims for decades. The new rulers began looting their "brothers in faith," seizing their property. And most importantly, the True Cross was never returned, and Jerusalem remained in Saladin’s hands. The only legacy of the siege was the Teutonic Order, founded by German merchants to care for the sick. But it, too, soon turned into a machine of war.
Richard vs. Saladin: How Two Leaders Shaped the Fate of the Holy Land
On August 23, 1191, the Crusaders marched out of Acre to accomplish what they had come to the East for — to reclaim Jerusalem. But instead of glory, they faced a chain of victories, betrayals, and bitter compromises.
On September 7, 1191, Richard’s army, arranged in a defensive "box" formation with infantry shielding the knights, advanced slowly toward Arsuf under a hail of Muslim arrows. The Hospitallers, losing their horses, could not hold back — they charged, breaking formation. Richard, an experienced tactician, immediately regrouped his forces. His knights crushed Saladin’s right flank, killing 7,000 Muslims while losing 700 of their own. “The rout was complete,” wrote the chronicler Baha ad-Din.
But the triumph turned out to be a Pyrrhic victory. Instead of marching on Jerusalem, Richard yielded to the persuasion of Guy de Lusignan and the Venetian merchants, who wanted to control the coastline. He turned toward Ascalon, which Saladin, having anticipated the move, had already razed to the ground. Twice the crusaders stood before the walls of Jerusalem — and both times they retreated: first because of heavy rains, then out of fear of repeating the disaster at Hattin. “We are wasting time while Saladin laughs,” the knights grumbled.
While Richard dashed between Ascalon and Jaffa, his enemies made their moves. Philip II, breaking his oath, attacked the Plantagenet lands in France. Conrad of Montferrat entered into secret negotiations with Saladin, offering Tyre and Acre in exchange for an alliance against Richard. Even the English king’s attempt to marry off his sister to Saladin’s brother, Al-Adil, failed — the Christians saw it as an act of betrayal.
In August 1192, Saladin laid siege to Jaffa. With only a handful of warriors, Richard launched a desperate assault. Landing first, he recaptured the city, and just four days later, crushed the sultan’s 30,000-strong army. "The king fought so fiercely that the skin on his hands split," wrote the chronicler Ambroise. Yet even this victory failed to restore faith in ultimate success.
On September 1, 1192, Richard signed a peace treaty with Saladin. The Christians were granted a narrow strip of coastline from Tyre to Jaffa and the right to make pilgrimages to Jerusalem, though the city remained under Muslim control. "I could not wrest it from the hands of the enemy," the king admitted, refusing even to visit the Holy City.
Richard’s return to Europe turned into a nightmare. In December 1192, he was captured by Duke Leopold V of Austria, who sought revenge for the humiliation at Acre. The king spent two years imprisoned in Dürnstein Castle until England paid a ransom of 150,000 marks — the equivalent of two years’ worth of the kingdom’s revenue.
The Third Crusade formally preserved the Kingdom of Jerusalem for another century, but the cost was enormous. Richard, whose bravery at Arsuf became legendary, returned home a broken man. Saladin, though he lost Acre, managed to hold on to the holy sites of Islam. And Europe came to a grim realization: the age of chivalric heroism was over — now, betrayal and gold held sway.
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