Peter Purton – Castle Studies Trust Blog

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).

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.

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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Kings, barons, miners and inedible pigs: the great siege of Rochester in 1215 now on video!

Dr Peter Purton FSA, leading expert on medieval siege warfare examines one of the most famous British medieval sieges, that of Rochester in 1215.

The great donjon of Rochester castle (Kent) is still visible from miles around – including from the Eurostar. It stands above a bridge across the tidal waters of the river Medway and that was one reason why it was subject to a famous six- week siege which ended when an entire corner of the great tower was brought crashing to the ground, leading to the fall of the castle on 30 November 1215.

This was the first big battle in the civil war that broke out between King John (1199-1216) and the barons who had forced him to seal Magna Carta in June of that year. The king got the pope to declare it null and both he, in the south, and the barons, based in London, began to gather soldiers. We know a great deal about what happened because contemporary chroniclers, including eyewitnesses and those closely associated with men fighting there, wrote it down; and because some government records survive. We know the names of the nobles and many of the knights on both sides, of the engineers paid to construct the King’s five stone-throwing siege engines, and the master miners from the Forest of Dean who with their team (altogether 13 miners) undermined first the wall of the bailey and then the great tower itself.

The first castle was built after the Norman conquest but the great tower dated from 1127 when it was built for the archbishop of Canterbury, then William of Corbeil, who shared ownership and use with the crown. It is the tallest keep in the British Isles (125 feet, 38 metres) and unusually boasts two floors above the main level and basement below, divided vertically by a spine wall that gave access to the castle well. Richly provided with latrines and comfortable chambers, two spiral staircases, beautifully decorated stonework, it was a place fit to entertain king or archbishop. But in 1215 none of this mattered, archbishop Stephen Langton ignored John’s demand to hand it over and instead allowed rebel baron William de Albini and 60 or 80 knights, their retinues and archers and crossbowmen, to take possession.

Interior of Rochester’s keep showing the rebuilt corner. To the left is the spine wall the defenders fell back to after the sapping

Control of the ancient bridge over the Medway was vital for both sides, and so it became John’s first target once he had gathered an army of several thousand experienced fighters mainly from Flanders, Poitou and Gascony. The defenders resisted every attack for weeks, inflicting many casualties on John’s men. In the end the besiegers turned to their miners, who first broke through the bailey wall (we don’t know where), then, using the grease from 40 slaughtered pigs (‘of the kind not fit for eating’) as an accelerant to burn the props they had used to prop up the masonry while they sapped the south east corner turret of the great tower, brought it crashing down. The defenders retreated behind the spine wall but had run out of food so surrendered. King John wanted to hang them all but was dissuaded by his own captains who didn’t want to meet the same fate if the wheel of fortune should turn against them.

To this day one can see the join on the sides of the donjon where the wall had to be rebuilt after the siege.

In 2015 the Castle Studies Group (www.castlestudiesgroup.org.uk) held a conference there to mark the 800^th anniversary and I presented a short paper analysing the siege. Now, following an invitation from across the Atlantic, an extended and illustrated version of that talk can be viewed at:

Wild Fire or Greek Fire? Game of Thrones and medieval sieges

It is a fact that millions more people have gained a view of medieval sieges by watching Game of Thrones than by reading books by experts or learning history at school, so it is worth asking: how true a picture does the blockbuster series give?

Across the seven series so far, we have seen many bloody captures of strongly fortified cities and castles by large armies of armoured warriors, supported by archers and fleets of ships. The attack on King’s Landing (series 2, ep. 9) provided some realistic glimpses: the preparations of the citizens and garrison for battle, the taking refuge in the keep of women and children – and the exemplary execution of attendants who tried to flee. The ominous clanging of the bells gave warning of assault heralded by banging drums and the landing and drawing up of the attacking army, the bringing up of a large battering ram to batter down the main gate while scaling ladders were prepared. As everyone knows, the city was saved when the dwarf prince Tyrion inspired his men by appealing to their commitment to their families and homes to launch a sally via a postern gate which took the besiegers in the flank, and, accompanied by the timely arrival of a relieving army, saved King’s Landing. Prior to this, the invading fleet had been consumed by the launch of the lethal ‘wildfire’ via a fireship.

Bronn lighting the wildfire with a flaming arrow. Image ©HBO.

Was ‘wild fire’ inspired by the famous ‘Greek Fire’? The real ignis graecus (mentioned in numerous Latin chronicles) was invented by Byzantine engineer Kallinikos and used to save Constantinople from Arab attack in 672 AD: its exact constituents remain unknown to this day but like ‘wild fire’, it could not be extinguished by water (hence its main use at close range against enemy ships), and among its secrets was the means of propulsion – possibly by siphon mounted on the front of ships, or on castle towers. The original formula was lost but incendiary devices continued in use, especially during the crusader period, using plentiful supplies of oil. But never again were they so decisive.

Other regular features of medieval sieges appear in GoT. The threat of hanging hostages in view of the occupants if they did not surrender, shown in the siege of Riverrun (ser. 6, ep. 7–8), maybe echoed the threat of King Stephen to kill the child who became the ‘greatest knight’, William the Marshal, if his father did not surrender Newbury (1152): in both cases the putative victims were reprieved. In other respects too a realistic scenario is painted: the besiegers erecting defences to protect their rear, building siege towers and stone throwing trebuchets, and setting camp in a vast array of pavilions flying numerous banners; defenders gathering sheaves of arrows and relying heavily on crossbows which, used from behind stone walls, could be devastating.

Riverrun yielded. At other times, the attackers avoided the risk of an assault by exploiting tunnels to enter – Tyrion and Daenerys captured Castly Rock (ser. 7, ep.3) through the sewers. In 1204, King Philip Augustus’ army stormed the middle bailey of Richard the Lionheart’s ‘impregnable’ Château Gaillard in Normandy when one of his men discovered a drain outlet in the ditch that led him up into the chapel.

GoT skates over many realities of medieval warfare, particularly questions of logistics. The siege weapons materialise from nowhere when in reality they needed time for construction. All are settled quickly, whereas most medieval sieges lasted a long time, and hunger and disease killed far more people than fighting. However, many episodes convey brilliantly the drama, the sheer terror, and the brutal horror of combat. So we should recognise GoT as brilliant drama rather than history, and look elsewhere for accounts of real medieval warfare. But while we’re about it, we can only imagine what a medieval general would have given for the three fire-breathing dragons Queen Daenerys unleashed at Meereen (ser. 7, ep. 9).

Dr Peter Purton (author of History of the Early Medieval Siege and History of the Late Medieval Siege (Boydell Press 2010).

How to build your castle

Review of: Charles Phillips, The Medieval Castle. Design, construction, daily life. Haynes Publishing, 2018. £22.99.

In the heart of a forest in Burgundy (France) a thirteenth century castle has been rising steadily from the ground since 1997. Guédelon castle was the subject of the BBC series Secrets of the castle in 2015 and, twenty years after construction started, is near completion. This new book describes what was involved in the challenge of creating a medieval castle using the Guédelon experience and relating this to the development of medieval castles in Britain.

The book is beautifully illustrated and succeeds brilliantly in demonstrating medieval building techniques, how the challenges medieval builders faced were overcome with the tools and technology at their disposal, how critical differences in types of soil, stone and timber determined what was used – in short, the great skill acquired by medieval craftsmen and now re-learnt by their modern successors (who operate under professional archaeological supervision). The tools used, the equipment created – such as enormous treadwheel cranes – how stones were cut and carved, mortar manufactured, vaults and windows installed, floors and roofs prepared and put in place: all are superbly explained in word and picture. Plumbing and heating were essential to survival and all are covered here. The daily life of those living in and around a medieval castle is superbly recreated by those working on the project (along with illustrations from medieval manuscripts, many of which will be well known to anyone already familiar with the subject).

One of the workshops where medieval techniques are used. Photo by Jean-Christophe Bruneau, Licensed CC-BY.

Working inwards from the ditch via gate, walls and bailey to the great tower and interior buildings (hall, chapel, chamber etc), Phillips takes the reader through the development of castles in England and Wales (with a rare skip across the Channel to France) between 1066 and the fifteenth century. His descriptions are largely of well-known major castles (Dover, Tower of London, Chepstow, Edwardian castles in Wales) which are presented with clear plans and excellent photographs. But it is here that I have a problem.

Though the author states that castles were bases and symbols of power and status, he otherwise hardly acknowledges more than twenty years of castle studies that have turned traditional explanations on their head: everything, he states time and again, was done that way for military reasons. While the great tower (keep, donjon) was occasionally used as a last resort defence, it was not built for that purpose. The cross-wall in the keep at Rochester (for example) served as a defence in the final stages of King John’s siege of 1215, but that was not why it was put there. Round towers had (some) defensives advantages over rectangular towers, but that wasn’t the only reason they become fashionable, and even then mainly only in France and England. I could go on.

Despite this weakness, Phillips’ book presents an unequalled description of how thirteenth century castles were designed and erected. Guédelon was based on a style made popular by King Philip Augustus of France. If you can get to visit it, do (though you will compete with thousands of tourists and school visits). If you can’t, this book will tell you all you need to know about it.

Peter Purton (D.Phil, FSA).

Medieval Engineers: history’s forgotten builders

“King Henry II built the great tower at Dover Castle” is the kind of statement you will hear when visiting one of this country’s magnificent fortresses. But the King himself never lifted a single tool to get any castle built. While the hard manual work was done by labourers, and the finer details worked by master stone masons and carpenters hired because of their great skills, the general plan as well as the day to day running of the construction would have been overseen by an engineer-architect. Under Henry II, records survive telling us who they were (in this case, Maurice the engineer) but in most instances they are anonymous.

Dover’s great tower (the tallest building) was constructed by Maurice the engineer for Henry II. Photo by Mark Whibley, licensed CC BY-NC-ND.

This anonymity is not a surprise: the writers of medieval chronicles were interested only in the great who ruled society – kings, bishops, great lords. It was this gap that persuaded me to write my book The Medieval military engineer. From the Roman Empire to the sixteenth century (Boydell Press 2018).

Today, sappers and engineers form a key part of every state’s army, and was also true of imperial Rome. But in medieval times craftsmen were hired to carry out engineering roles and quite often the same people would have many skills, so that alongside building castles they might also design bridges, churches and cathedrals, or oversee the creation of, and sometimes operate, siege weapons. Because they were commoners, and with only a handful of exceptions, their names were not recorded throughout early medieval times. Often we only know them when (like Maurice) records start surviving showing what they were paid for their work. The great lords who also had hands-on military engineering skills were named in history, but were a tiny handful.

Many interesting questions become easier to answer as more records survive, such as how much did these engineers actually know, how they learnt their skills, how knowledge was transmitted across generations, and what part did they play as technology became more sophisticated?

The same skills that St Guthlac used to design and build a chapel (shown above) could be used to build castles.building a chapel. From the British Library’s ‘Guthlac roll’, made in the late 12th or early 13th century. Harley Roll Y.6.

Historians no longer see the years between the end of the western Roman empire and the European renaissance of the fifteenth century as one long period of ignorance, and we are more aware that change and improvement were continuous, witnessed with the development of ever more spectacular cathedrals and castles, but also mundane but vital skills such as bridge and ship building, irrigation schemes, and military equipment such as siege artillery – the trebuchet, taken up across Europe and the Islamic lands during the thirteenth century, was a game-changer, before giving way to gunpowder artillery during the fourteenth.

Change happened because people questioned existing conventions and came up with new ideas, but also because they developed the skills to put them into practice. It is time to give them the credit they are entitled to. Next time you visit a large stone castle, ask not just which lord lived there and paid for it, but who actually designed it, and admire their skills; and if despite its strength it was captured in a siege, who built the wooden engines that do not survive, or who undermined it, which decided the outcome?

Peter Purton, DPhil (Oxon), FSA.

Clifford: investigating one of England’s oldest castles

The Castle Studies Trust’s supporters and trustees, joined by castle experts from far and wide, were hosted by Keith Hill, owner of Clifford Castle, Herefordshire, to hear the results of the recent work funded by the Trust at the castle.

Clifford Castle is a large motte with remains of a stone castle on top, a vast bailey with elaborate stone gatehouse on the one side, and a mysterious earthwork known as the hornwork on the other, standing beside the river Wye. Originally founded in the first years after the Norman conquest Clifford became home to a baronial family whose wealth allowed them to erect the substantial stone structures now visible. The new work led by archaeologist Tim Hoverd and Nigel Barker has made it possible to confirm that these were almost certainly built at the end of the twelfth or in the first decades of the thirteenth century.

It was suggested that what has always been described as a great hall was probably a chamber block over a basement, reinforced by comparison with the structure at nearby Grosmont castle. Excavation recovered a door as well as the end wall of this block, which turned out to be very close to the external curtain wall. Pottery found on the motte confirmed a date of late twelfth/early thirteenth century. The arrow loops in the surviving mural tower are of the same era. The curtain wall also contains a large number of latrine chutes discharging down the motte side facing the long-abandoned earthwork on the far side and cut off by a man-made ditch. What it was remains a subject for speculation, as does the presence of buildings in the outer ward, because a post-medieval orchard was found to have removed most of the evidence.

The Trust is delighted that its funding has significantly improved our understanding of an important castle of the Welsh Marches. A full report will be made in due course.

1066: castles and the Norman Conquest

The only date in British history everyone remembers is 1066, when, on 14 October, William duke of Normandy defeated and killed Harold, king of England, and began a new era in this island’s history. Those interested in the castle know that it was William’s followers who brought it with them. 950 years on, it may come as a surprise to hear that what we know about castles built by the Norman conquerors in the years after 1066 is less than what we still don’t know: castle studies still matter and the work of organisations like the Castle Studies Trust is vital in encouraging better understanding of these monuments, and our own past.

Before 1066 the only castles in England were a handful built by Norman nobles who had been favourites of king Edward the Confessor. English nobles used a different type of residence and we will never know if they would eventually have followed the continental trend.

The Norman conquest did not end on 14 October 1066, it only began. William had wiped out the English royal family and much of the aristocracy but the battle of Hastings (and subsequent surrender of Dover and London) only secured him control of the south east. He then faced and defeated resistance and rebellions including that of Hereward “the Wake” in the Fens, while the people of York destroyed the first castle built there by the invaders in 1068 leading to the infamous “harrying of the north” in 1069. To understand the building of early Norman castles it’s important to bear in mind that the conquerors could not relax and believe they were secure for a number of years.

Castles featured from the start. From the quickly fabricated timber palisades put up to protect the army when it landed to the foundation of the new “Tower of London”, William ordered the construction of royal castles while also encouraging the bishops and nobles who had followed him to build their own. Many great stone castles standing today were originally put up as earthworks in the years immediately after 1066. In turn, the great lords who replaced virtually the entire English ruling class encouraged their own followers to secure themselves in their own castles. We don’t know the reasons why each was built: sometimes sitting on the previous owner’s (unfortified) hall, the new castle was evidently a visual statement confirming change of ownership, but may also reflect concerns about security by the new landowner, living among and exploiting a much larger peasantry speaking another language.

The larger castles have been well studied. The lesser ones have not. There are probably at least a thousand earthworks in what was then England, most of which have never been excavated, never dated, their function only guessed at. Many are called “mottes” with no more evidence than that they look like one. The old certainty that all Norman castles were originally of motte and bailey design has been replaced with awareness that the recognisable conical mound forming the motte was sometimes added later to a simpler enclosure defined by a ditch, rampart and palisade. The bailey too is proving more complex: why did some castles have two (or more), why are some so vast? Some now seem to have enclosed whole villages, others are too cramped for any but the smallest buildings. The CST-funded project at Caus (Shropshire) tackles this question.

950 years after William began the conquest of England, we are asking questions about Norman castles based not on old prejudices about what castles were, but on historical and archaeological study based in a better understanding of the reality of eleventh and twelfth century societies.

Dr. Peter Purton

Caus Castle, Shropshire.
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