a man of substance could travel unmolested throughout the country with his bosom full of gold. No man dared slay another, no matter what evil the other might have done him.’
Among his blacker deeds, however, castle-building topped the list.
‘Assuredly in his time men suffered grievous oppression and manifold injuries,’ wrote the chronicler. ‘He caused castles to be built, which were a sore burden to the poor.’
So ends William’s story. But the story of earth-and-timber castles, which started well before William’s day, had a long way to go once the king was gone. Some motte and baileys, particularly those built along the Welsh border, continued to be inhabited and improved right down to the end of the thirteenth century. Hen Domen, for example, was not abandoned until the 1280s. When civil war erupted in the middle of the twelfth century, many new earth-and-timber castles were built from scratch, and hundreds of older ones were quickly repaired and refortified. Likewise, when the Normans later carried war into Ireland and Scotland, motte and baileys were still the weapon of choice.
However, in England after the Conquest, the trend was towards peace rather than war. Men who had built castles to secure their acquisitions in the years immediately after 1066 soon found there was no need to keep all of them in constant readiness and good repair. In many cases, they followed the example of Orderic Vitalis’s father, and settled down to marry a nice English girl. Later generations of Norman knights found there was little point in investing time, energy and money in repairing and renovating all the castles that their fathers and grandfathers had built. From the start of the twelfth century, the number of occupied sites began to fall. Abandoned and left to decay, in time their baileys grassed over, and their timbers rotted away.
With castles no longer needed as instruments of conquest and oppression, those which survived this process of thinning down were the ones that could adapt to play new peace-time roles. Many royal castles, for example, survived because they were necessary as prisons, as residences for sheriffs, and as treasuries for the king’s gold and silver. In most cases, however, the castles that survived were simply the ones their owners liked best, either because they were conveniently situated at the heart of their estates, or because they were well-placed for hunting, trade and travel. As they let some of their earlier castles fade into the landscape, and began to invest more and more of their resources in one or two favourite residences, later generations of Normans found they were able to invest in something a little more spectacular than earth and wood.
It was William the Conqueror, once again, who had led the way. In the weeks and months after his coronation, he had built a timber castle in the south-east corner of London. By the middle of the 1070s, however, the king had decided that his new capital required a more permanent and more grandiose royal residence – a building made of stone. It was a castle that took almost thirty years to build, and which William never lived to see completed. Its importance to future generations of castle-builders was correspondingly colossal. As the great stone building slowly inched its way skywards, it became known simply as the Tower. This, without question, was the shape of things to come.
CHAPTER TWO
TOWERS OF STONE
THE CITY OF Rochester lies on the north coast of Kent, at the mouth of the river Medway. Like most modern cities, it has its fair share of tall buildings, from elegant Victorian mansion blocks to ugly sixties high-rises. The building that dominates this city’s skyline, however, was built not in the modern age, but almost nine centuries ago. The great tower of Rochester Castle still dwarfs everything for miles around, including the Norman cathedral that stands in its shadow. Even a modern visitor who is used to tall buildings, and familiar
Among his blacker deeds, however, castle-building topped the list.
‘Assuredly in his time men suffered grievous oppression and manifold injuries,’ wrote the chronicler. ‘He caused castles to be built, which were a sore burden to the poor.’
So ends William’s story. But the story of earth-and-timber castles, which started well before William’s day, had a long way to go once the king was gone. Some motte and baileys, particularly those built along the Welsh border, continued to be inhabited and improved right down to the end of the thirteenth century. Hen Domen, for example, was not abandoned until the 1280s. When civil war erupted in the middle of the twelfth century, many new earth-and-timber castles were built from scratch, and hundreds of older ones were quickly repaired and refortified. Likewise, when the Normans later carried war into Ireland and Scotland, motte and baileys were still the weapon of choice.
However, in England after the Conquest, the trend was towards peace rather than war. Men who had built castles to secure their acquisitions in the years immediately after 1066 soon found there was no need to keep all of them in constant readiness and good repair. In many cases, they followed the example of Orderic Vitalis’s father, and settled down to marry a nice English girl. Later generations of Norman knights found there was little point in investing time, energy and money in repairing and renovating all the castles that their fathers and grandfathers had built. From the start of the twelfth century, the number of occupied sites began to fall. Abandoned and left to decay, in time their baileys grassed over, and their timbers rotted away.
With castles no longer needed as instruments of conquest and oppression, those which survived this process of thinning down were the ones that could adapt to play new peace-time roles. Many royal castles, for example, survived because they were necessary as prisons, as residences for sheriffs, and as treasuries for the king’s gold and silver. In most cases, however, the castles that survived were simply the ones their owners liked best, either because they were conveniently situated at the heart of their estates, or because they were well-placed for hunting, trade and travel. As they let some of their earlier castles fade into the landscape, and began to invest more and more of their resources in one or two favourite residences, later generations of Normans found they were able to invest in something a little more spectacular than earth and wood.
It was William the Conqueror, once again, who had led the way. In the weeks and months after his coronation, he had built a timber castle in the south-east corner of London. By the middle of the 1070s, however, the king had decided that his new capital required a more permanent and more grandiose royal residence – a building made of stone. It was a castle that took almost thirty years to build, and which William never lived to see completed. Its importance to future generations of castle-builders was correspondingly colossal. As the great stone building slowly inched its way skywards, it became known simply as the Tower. This, without question, was the shape of things to come.
CHAPTER TWO
TOWERS OF STONE
THE CITY OF Rochester lies on the north coast of Kent, at the mouth of the river Medway. Like most modern cities, it has its fair share of tall buildings, from elegant Victorian mansion blocks to ugly sixties high-rises. The building that dominates this city’s skyline, however, was built not in the modern age, but almost nine centuries ago. The great tower of Rochester Castle still dwarfs everything for miles around, including the Norman cathedral that stands in its shadow. Even a modern visitor who is used to tall buildings, and familiar
Similar Books
