Cannons and palaces? Surely a mistake…?

By Dr Peter Purton

Most people know what a palace is. Defining a castle is a bit trickier, despite half a century having passed since the traditional military version was challenged and replaced by modern castellologists. But most agree that the symbolic and residential roles of a palace must be included in any understanding of a castle. If you look at any plan of a German castle you will see the word ‘Palas’ attached to the main building inside it; this definition reaches down the scale to the smallest Irish tower house, where the modest tower represents the ‘palace’ of a landowner, at least in their own eyes and certainly as seen by the peasants living around them, or their peers living in similar towers nearby.

Medieval rulers began to make use of gunpowder weapons to wage war from the middle of the fourteenth century. I am co-writing, with Dr Christof Krauskopf (who works at the Brandenburg Authorities for Heritage Management and Archaeological State Museum in Germany), a new book studying how fortifications evolved during the first two centuries of gunpowder weaponry.

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It is commonly accepted that over time (for England, most would say this occurred under the Tudors) any military role for castles disappeared altogether, and instead became the exclusive remit of forts and fortresses (Henry VIII’s coastal artillery forts, for example, which despite their English Heritage titles are not castles), while royalty and nobility resided in palaces and country houses. But what happened before this point was reached? Were defensive functions also fulfilled by the palatial castles built by royals and nobles after guns began to make a significant impact on the conduct of war?

Vincennes (Val de Marne, France), the donjon. The outer ‘chemise’ is not medieval. Copyright Dr Peter Purton

Vincennes is an immense royal castle (today at the eastern end of a Paris metro line) commissioned by King Charles V (1364-80) during the Hundred Years War [fig.1]. It is a superb statement of power and wealth reflected in its design and décor. But atop the multi-storey donjon is an unadorned floor whose walls are pierced by loops and windows for crossbows and small guns, and (for avoidance of doubt), the garrison included canoniers in 1379. Across the Channel at the same time, gun loops were being included in castles belonging to English aristocrats: in Kent, for example, a regular target for seaborne attacks, the archbishop’s castle at Saltwood and the parvenu Cobham’s enclosure at Cooling [fig. 2].

Cooling Castle (Kent, England), 1380-85, by Sir John de Cobham. Copyright Dr Peter Purton

Jumping ahead by nearly a century brings us to a time where in England the role of castles during the Wars of the Roses was no longer to serve as the object of siege and defence. A not dissimilar political scenario existed in Iberia, where immensely wealthy noble families vied for control of the kingdom of Castile, and neighbours Portugal and Aragon frequently interfered. Just as elsewhere in Europe, these magnates built magnificent palaces reflecting their status. They also raised private armies to attack rivals. In the province of Madrid is Manzanares el Real [fig.3], built by the famous architect Gruas for the Mendozas, dukes of Infantado (who still own it) from the middle of the fifteenth century. Its walls and turrets sport spectacular ornamentation and the interior is graced by ornate galleries. It is surrounded by what the Spanish call a barrera, a towered lower outer wall liberally provided with gun embrasures. Gaining entry involves going through a pair of (gun-looped) gate towers then taking two turns around the foot of the inner wall.

Manzanares el Real (Madrid province, Spain), photographed at the start of its second restoration in 1975. Copyright Dr Peter Purton

In the end, whether one believes that such defensive measures designed for guns were seriously intended for defence, or were themselves merely ornamental, is a matter of judgement. No evidence survives to explain the intentions of the builders. It is a continuation of the same debate that questioned whether arrow loops were meant to be – or could be – used, recast for the age of gunpowder.

There is an alternative approach: maybe such buildings could be both at the same time, and even the least practicable gun loops might deter raiders (compare Bodiam). In this scenario, there might be no distinction between a palace and a castle and a medieval noble might not understand the argument. Perhaps it was when the cost of defences that would be effective in the new world of the early modern state became prohibitive that aristocrats abandoned the military aspects of their castle-palaces altogether?

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Fragile symbols: gunpowder and castle walls

Dr Peter Purton, FSA, Castle Studies Trust trustee and author of recent works on medieval sieges and medieval military engineers looks at his latest area of research, later medieval fortifications and the impact of the introduction of gunpowder.

Castle studies were once ruled (in England at least) by wealthy amateurs, mostly male (Ella Armitage a stand-out exception) and many with military backgrounds. Every aspect of a castle, for them, was determined by military thinking. The late twentieth century counter-attack turned this on its head, stressing the symbolic role of castle-building as expressions of status and power. Some people challenged any suggestion that changes were driven by the need to upgrade defensive capability; and the same argument has been applied when guns arrived on the scene.

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Those keen to argue the superiority of the English can always point to the first adoption (in Europe – the Chinese were centuries ahead) of gunpowder, and its first use for war. It’s also true that the English were the first to adapt fortifications to use guns, from the mid-fourteenth century, a little ahead of the Low Countries followed by the French, all places affected by the devastating impact of the struggles we bundle up in the title of the Hundred Years war (1337-1453).

Gun loop at the west gate of Canterbury, Kent

Were loops created for guns also symbolic? If you take account of the historical reality of the time, this argument surely evaporates in a puff of (gun)smoke. I’m working on a new history of changes in fortification in the age of gunpowder with Dr. Christof Krauskopf and we delivered a paper at the (virtual) Leeds IMC in July 2020 addressing this question. We can’t answer the question without knowing the context, and what the builder wanted. The first is usually evident, the second is irretrievable. Across southern England from the earliest days of the war there were frequent seaborne raids by the French and their allies that caused local devastation and serious embarrassment (and loss) to the English crown. People could not know when and where the next attack would come. The response was the preparation of defences designed to use guns (at the time, they were not powerful enough to harm stone walls) from East Anglia (the Cow Tower of Norwich, for example) to Devon (Hawley’s Fortalice at Dartmouth), usually adapting existing defences but often building anew. The royal ‘architect’ (an anachronistic shorthand) Henry Yevele was directly involved in the erection of the Westgate and the reconstruction of the city walls at Canterbury and at private castles in Kent (Cooling, for example). Southampton, having been burnt to the ground by the French, underwent extensive reconstruction of its defences, including (early in the fifteenth century) one of the first gun-towers (the God’s House tower).

Cooling Castle, Kent, Outer Gatehouse

Amidst all this very expensive work, in 1385, the castle at Bodiam (Sussex) was put up for Sir Edward Dallingridge, set in a lake and pierced with gun loops and now a picture-postcard National Trust attraction. It has been the centre of a battle lasting longer even than the hundred years war. Forty years ago, the late Charles Coulson famously demolished its military pretensions by pointing out its many flaws from a defensive viewpoint. Bodiam became the peaceful retirement home for a military veteran.

Bodiam Castle courtesy of Wyrdlight.com

Sometimes you only see what you want to see. Actually, Dallingridge wasn’t retired: he was commissioned to review the defences of the coast, for the king, and was actually wounded in a French attack. His gun loops may not have worked very well and his lake could have been drained – but a French raiding party was unlikely to hang around long enough to find out. In the context, the most that can be said is: we don’t know what he intended.

England swiftly lost its leading position in the race to build fortifications adapted for and against artillery as it became significantly more powerful during the course of the next century, a time when the gap between what princes and their subjects could afford expanded greatly. But many nobles did make provision for guns, and kings still put comfort first (Edward III’s work at Windsor). Between the two extremes of fortresses with evident military purpose and castles designed as palatial homes, others tried to provide for both functions, with numerous examples across the continent.

Perhaps that was what the medieval castle had always been?

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