The Rise of the Teutonic Knights

The army of the crusader kingdom of Jerusalem was annihilated at the Horns of Hattin on 4 July 1187. The defeat was almost total, and the survivors few. In the following months, the crusader states crumbled. The victor in this hard-fought struggle was the Kurdish ruler Saladin, and by October of the same year, the holy city of Jerusalem was in his hands.

When news of these events reached Western Christendom, the papacy’s reaction was immediate: a new campaign was launched to wrest back control of Jerusalem. Rulers from across Europe responded to the call; their armies were marshalled and set out for the East. The meeting point for these forces was the recently conquered, now Muslim-held, city of Acre, which became the first major arena in which these incoming forces (now known as the Third Crusade) would test their mettle against Saladin.

Legend reports that among the besieging Christian forces at Acre was a group of pilgrims from the north German cities of Bremen and Lübeck, who had created a small hospice for the care of pilgrims under the shade of a ship’s sail. In its humble origins, this pious, self-sacrificing establishment could not have been less auspicious. Nevertheless, within 50 years, it was on its way to becoming one of the mightiest religious orders in Christendom. By 1240, it was a fully fledged military order of the Catholic Church (established on the pattern of the Knights Templar and Hospitaller) and its forces were active in many theatres of war, especially the eastern Mediterranean, Prussia, and Livonia (now Latvia). During this same period, it had acquired a solid economic base with great estates stretching from Germany to the Italian peninsula.  In later centuries, it would play a defining role in shaping the history of Eastern Europe and the Baltic.  

The Teutonic Knights’ rapid rise from obscurity to great power is remarkable not just for its speed, but also because within it lies the rags-to-riches tale of one of the most dynamic individuals of the 13th century: Hermann von Salza. Born into a simple knightly family, by the end of his life, Hermann would be the master of the Teutonic Knights, the confidant of popes, kings and emperors and the defender of hundreds of miles of Christendom’s frontier lands. In the centuries to come, the order’s historians and propagandists would rhapsodise about Hermann and the dramatic transformation the order underwent during his time as leader. One commentator observed that, when he became master in 1210, the order could arm and equip no more than ten brother knights, yet by the time of his death in 1239, it could muster 2,000 brothers. Even making allowance for hyperbole, Hermann’s impact was considerable. How did he do it? 

The Teutonic Knights were not the first military order to rise to prominence during the Middle Ages. By the time of their foundation in 1190, both the Templars and the Hospitallers were already huge international orders, and the foundations of their growth were, moreover, broadly similar. To listen to many modern fantasies about the Knights Templar, Hospitaller, and Teutonic Knights, one might think that the roots of their military muscle and financial clout were bound up with their possession of mighty religious relics such as the Holy Grail or their shadowy status as some form of secret society.  Such wild claims appeal to conspiracy theorists, but they have no foundation in the sources.  

All three of these orders grew and maintained themselves in a manner similar to that of a modern charity. That is not to say that their goals and vocation bore relation to anything that might be deemed worthy of charity status today. Rather, it was in their reliance upon donations and public support. Like modern charities, the military orders’ prosperity was based on their ability to persuade potential donors that they were engaged in a worthy cause deserving of their patronage. As with modern charities, the military orders became adept in the art of publicising themselves through multiple channels to encourage and maintain a flow of donations (we would call it marketing). The challenge was to persuade potential benefactors that it was their work, rather than that of other orders, that was deserving of support.

When Hermann von Salza became the master of the Teutonic Knights in 1210, the pathway to success for an aspiring military order was well established. Back in the 1120s, Hugh of Payns, the first master of the Templar Order, had taken ship for western Europe, leaving his small band of knights to guard the roads to Jerusalem. He had then toured France and England, ostensibly to raise troops for a new crusade, but also drawing attention to his institution. He had attracted many admirers, including high-ranking nobles, who had lavished lands, money and privileges upon his order, seeking to express their piety and support for the defence of distant Jerusalem through the donation of alms. The papacy had also offered its support, confirming the order in its then unique status as a military religious order. Armed with this newfound wealth, the Templars had then begun to build up estates (known as commanderies) across western Europe, whose task was to enhance the order’s profile and finances. These commanderies sent one-third of their produce to support their brethren’s activities in the crusader states. They also sought to strengthen relations with neighbouring noble families, seeking further financial support and recruits. Over time, the Templars’ sources of income diversified, as it acquired plunder from its military campaigning and began to deploy and invest its own wealth in western Europe. The steady annual flow of wealth from the commanderies remained, however, the backbone of its economic power.          

This, then, was the model which Hermann sought to imitate. The real trick was to capture the attention of Europe’s elites. This was a difficult task, given that the Hospitallers and Templars were already firmly entrenched across the West and that they received the lion’s share of donations from those who wished to support both the defence of the Holy Land and, in the case of the Hospitallers, the provision of medical care in the crusader states. So, as with other charities and businesses, Hermann’s task was to find a new ‘niche’ for his order. His success in this challenge was founded upon his ability to harness the order’s existing strengths. 

When Hermann first became master, there was little to suggest that the Teutonic Order was destined for anything other than mediocrity. Though it had been founded as a charitable, medical institution, it had acquired a military role in 1198 at the behest of the leaders of a German crusade, which had reached the East in the previous year. The order had a handful of small properties, though these scarcely represented the launchpad required for future growth. 

The Teutonic Order did, however, possess a number of potential advantages. From the outset, it had been closely allied with the German imperial house. Duke Frederick of Swabia (son of the late emperor, Frederick Barbarossa) participated in the siege of Acre during the Third Crusade and was evidently so impressed by the work of the small German hospital that, when he fell terminally ill, he asked to be buried there. He also wrote to his brother, Emperor Henry VI, praising the order, creating a vital avenue to the seat of imperial power. From the beginning, the order had friends in high places. Many of those who had advocated the order’s militarisation were among the most powerful in the German empire. German influence was also growing in the eastern Mediterranean. Between 1190 and 1227, no less than three major German crusades reached the Holy Land, seeking to rebuild the slowly recovering kingdom of Jerusalem, and there were many smaller expeditions. Frederick II, the German emperor, became King of Jerusalem in 1225, a title that he and his successors held until 1267.  

Hermann’s genius was to develop these relationships. He worked hard to strengthen the order’s relations with the German emperors. This was a time when the imperial throne was contested between the Hohenstaufen and Welf families, and Hermann proved willing to support whichever faction was in the ascendancy, if it meant that they would back his cause. He also travelled at length around Germany and other kingdoms in western Europe, building relations with the dukes of Austria and the landgraves of Thuringia, along with many other aristocratic families. The donations began to roll in. In this task, Hermann was assisted by the fact that neither the Templars nor the Hospitallers had ever managed to gain much of a foothold in Germany. Their support base lay in France, Italy, England and northern Spain. Thus, there was potential for Hermann’s order to expand with only limited competition from the other orders.  

A key moment in this process, when Hermann demonstrated dramatically both his own abilities and those of his order, was the Fifth Crusade (1217-21). Like many others, this crusade represented yet another effort to regain Jerusalem by first attacking Egypt. The campaign’s battle plan was founded on the strategic logic of first seizing the Nile delta and then using its colossal wealth (derived from the fertile delta and the trade income from the Silk Roads and the trans-Saharan gold routes) to fund the permanent reconquest of the Holy Land. That was the idea, but the campaign was a disaster. For 15 months, the large Christian army rotted outside the port city of Damietta on Egypt’s northern coast, which eventually fell in November 1219. Its subsequent attempts to strike inland towards Cairo met with catastrophe.  

Hermann saw opportunity in the midst of calamity. Throughout the crusade, he and his lieutenants travelled like worker bees between the papacy, the emperor and the army in Egypt. Hermann and his Teutonic Knights offered counsel, spread news, conveyed funds and discussed plans. He won respect at the highest level and the chroniclers of this time started to record his views and opinions, even though he was merely the commander of an obscure institution. When the army eventually surrendered Damietta back to the Muslim forces, it was Hermann, along with the Templar master who negotiated the handover.  

It was also around this time that writers began to speak of the ‘three orders’ (Templars, Hospitallers and Teutonic Knights), a term that demonstrated that this still small institution was now deemed worthy of inclusion within the ranks of the most powerful military orders. Donations grew rapidly. Knights, churchmen and nobles declared themselves to have been impressed by the order’s work during the Fifth Crusade, despite the campaign’s overall defeat. The Duke of Austria supplied money to help the order construct a fortress in the kingdom of Jerusalem. The papacy showered the order with ecclesiastical privileges, even granting it the same liberties as the Templars and Hospitallers. Frederick II offered further support, perhaps hoping thereby to conceal the fact that he had not participated in the campaign in person, as he had promised. In the years that followed, the order continued to grow and Hermann criss-crossed Christendom, recruiting troops for a new crusade, while simultaneously advocating the work of his own order. More commanderies were founded, recruits were gathered, supporters were identified.  

Yet, for all his success, Herman was playing with fire. By far his biggest supporters were the German emperor and the papacy. On the one hand, these were the most powerful men in Christendom (and therefore ideal patrons). On the other, they were embittered adversaries. The struggle between the papacy and the empire dated back to the 11th century and would continue for hundreds of years. Time and time again during the Middle Ages, the tectonic plates of the Church and empire would rupture afresh. The issues dividing them were many, but ultimately, they were vying with one another for supremacy over Christendom. By the 1220s, the papacy and Frederick II were in the process of squaring up for another round in this ongoing contest and both sides demanded the unquestioning loyalty of the Teutonic Knights. Hermann had led his order into a dangerous conflict of interests. 

The ultimate breakdown in relations occurred in 1227. Frederick had been promising to go on crusade for years, and the papacy had lost patience with his continual prevarication, issuing a bull of excommunication and invading Frederick’s kingdom of Sicily. Frederick by this stage was ready to embark for the East, and he later arrived in the kingdom of Jerusalem as an excommunicated crusader. For Hermann this was the worst possible news; his patrons were at war. Both had the power to destroy his order and neither relationship could be risked. He could not afford the luxury of taking sides.  

In this moment of crisis, Hermann demonstrated his abilities as a diplomat. He supported the emperor on crusade, helping to secure the return of Jerusalem by treaty. He wrote repeatedly to the pope assuring him of his continued loyalty. Then he returned to Italy as fast as possible, where he acted as a mediator between the two factions, eventually drawing them to the negotiation table. The pope had some doubts initially about the order’s loyalty and officially censured the Teutonic Knights in 1229, but his wrath was assuaged after Hermann’s return from crusade. It was a performance of consummate diplomatic skill and the order not only survived the test but actually prospered in this dispute’s aftermath, because Pope Gregory IX proved willing to sponsor the order’s new adventure: the conquest of Prussia.  

Hermann had been contemplating the expansion of his order’s military activities into Eastern Europe since the time of his election as master, though his record in this area was not great. As far back as 1211, he had secured an invitation to defend the eastern frontier of the kingdom of Hungary. The order’s warriors and settlers occupied the area and began to strengthen and fortify their position. The problem was that they were too successful. They began to exceed their mandate and the Hungarian nobility soon came to see them as a threat, forcing the king to expel them. It was a major failure, the most glaring of Hermann’s time as master, although it did not quench his appetite for future campaigning on Europe’s eastern margins.   

By 1230, the order had been considering an expansion into Prussia for some time. It had been patient, gaining the support of the emperor, the papacy and the local prince, Conrad of Masovia. The order drove north up the River Vistula, established new settlements and forts and waged war against the local pagan tribes. 

Hermann himself was rarely at the frontier. He left the military conquest of Prussia to his able deputy, Hermann Balk. Herman von Salza’s skill remained that of diplomacy and he used it to great effect in 1237, securing another major territorial advance for the Teutonic Knights in Livonia on the Baltic coast. Livonia had been seized decades previously by German crusaders and missionaries, who, in the early stages of their conquest, had established a military order called the Swordbrethren. It had proved to be an enthusiastic campaigner and conqueror, joining the local bishop and the citizens of the main city, Riga, as one of Livonia’s rulers.  

Nevertheless, by the 1230s complaints were being made to the papacy about the conduct of the Swordbrethren, especially their attempts to take control of neighbouring Estonia. The order managed to clear itself of these charges, but almost immediately afterwards, in 1236, it suffered a major defeat at the battle of Saule, probably at a location in modern Lithuania. It was at this moment that Hermann, ever the opportunist, made the suggestion to the papacy that perhaps the Swordbrethren should be incorporated into the Teutonic Order. Pope Gregory agreed and the Teutonic Order duly acquired another major territorial stake in a frontier province. 

When Hermann fell ill and died in 1239 he had left his successors a substantial legacy. By this stage the order was an active presence in the Holy Land, with major fortifications and estates in the kingdom of Jerusalem and Armenia. It was consolidating a strong position in Prussia and now held much of Livonia. In addition, the Teutonic Knights had large estates across Germany and other parts of western Europe. Hermann had erected a mighty edifice and the order would continue to grow and expand, particularly in Prussia and Livonia, for centuries to come.   

Within this process he had proven himself to be one of the most brilliant diplomats of his age. The tools he used to dramatically enlarge his order were inspired by the preceding orders, the Templars and Hospitallers. He saw clearly that it was the support of patrons which made or broke such institutions. Some potential benefactors were approached for money, others were cajoled into taking a crusading vow and marching to their aid. In this search for patronage the Teutonic Knights cultivated a carefully manicured public image, seeking to persuade donors of their virtues and achievements. Some of the stories they told when garnering aid have survived in the pages of the orders’ histories and it is not difficult to see their potential for drumming up support.   

One later chronicler told the story of a young man who went out in search of his father, who had been fighting with the Teutonic Knights in Prussia. He was initially unsuccessful in his search, but one day his diligence was rewarded when he passed a graveyard that was being consecrated by a bishop. Unexpectedly, a grave opened and a corpse leapt out. The corpse told anyone within earshot that he had once been a sinner condemned to Hell, but that through fighting for God with the Teutonic Knights, he had earned his salvation. The bishop then blessed him, and he returned to the ground, while the young man suddenly realised that he had seen his father. The chronicle’s message could not be more clear: that whatever sins his readers may have committed in their past life, they will be rewarded with salvation if they come armed and willing to the order’s defence. It was a powerful message and one that would have appealed to noble and commoner alike. We should envisage stories of this kind being told by the orders’ members across Germany and other parts of Christendom, seeking recruits and aid. Certainly, many responded to their call.

Hermann’s life reads like a ‘how to’ guide in building a military order, but his was not a complete success. Looking back on his considerable achievements, the case could be made that he had gone too far. By the time of his death in 1239, the order may have grown greatly in size but it was also vulnerable. Five years later, in 1244, the order suffered reverses in all three of its major frontier zones: Prussia (in rebellion from 1243), the Holy Land (reeling from a defeat suffered at the hands of the Egyptians in 1244) and Livonia (routed by the Rus to the north-east in 1242). In the wake of these disasters, the order’s future was hanging by a thread, and it took decades of hard campaigning for his successors to regain their former strength. The order was simply not strong enough to reinforce multiple frontiers simultaneously. Perhaps this legacy reveals the weakness of Hermann’s determination to expand his order and is the underside of his unstinted ambition.  

Ultimately, these issues would be overcome. The order’s growth continued into the 14th and 15th centuries, and Hermann von Salza had laid the foundations for one of the most powerful military orders in medieval Europe.

Nicholas Morton is Senior Lecturer in History at Nottingham Trent University and the author of The Medieval Military Orders 1120-1314 (Routledge, 2012).