I covered it with a piece of linen and then a heavy shroud of sackcloth, and began to replace the soil and rubble. It was an emotional moment, tinged with a strong sense of melancholy. It marked the end of a long saga for Hereward and his family. Their legacy lived on, of course, embodied in the King himself, but it felt as if their personal journey was now over. They had fulfilled everything England could have expected of them, and they could now rest in peace.
I assumed that one day, perhaps many generations hence, the casket would be found. I smiled to myself, imagining the look of astonishment on the faces of those who would then read its contents.
Negu knelt down beside me and held my hand.
‘I am very proud of you, Ranulf. You have served your King as well as any man could have done. You have also done a great service to Earl Harold and his family, and to your country. I am lucky to have met you, and even more fortunate that you came back to find me.’
‘Thank you, my darling. I am the lucky one. What a life I have had! And now I have even more to look forward to, with you.’
On the day of the ceremony, Roger de Lacy and several local knights and burgesses accompanied the Archbishop of York. He placed a clay ampoule of holy water and a cross in the earth before the stone slab was laid, and then consecrated the ground so that mass could be said.
As the mass came to an end, and the Archbishop gave his final blessing, Negu and I gripped each other’s hands tightly. We were both smiling broadly; the rest of the gathering were also smiling, in celebration of a special moment, as a new abbey became sanctified.
But we had even more reason to celebrate. Hereward and his descendants were all at rest, and now their story had been enshrined in a holy place.
It was a fitting location. The mighty Einar, one of Hereward’s loyal companions who died during the Siege of Ely, had been born only a few miles away, at Skipton. Not only that: Hereward would have passed by this very spot on his journeys to and from York during his campaigns against the Conqueror, in 1069.
We could not have chosen a better place.
Our life of bliss continued into 1196 when, in May of that year, a squadron of the King’s Guard at Westminster rode up from Skipton. They looked splendid in their royal finery and immediately stirred in me fond memories of my time with the King.
‘Sir Ranulf, greetings; I am Thomas, Captain of the King’s Second Conroi at Westminster.’
‘Welcome to Bolton Priory, Captain. You are an Englishman?’
‘I am, and proud of it. The King is encouraging Englishmen to join his Guard, thanks – if I may say so – to you, Sir Ranulf.’
‘Well, I’m gratified to hear that. But how can I help you?’
‘The King has sent word from Rouen. He requests that you join him there before Midsummer’s Day. He has a commission for you.’
‘I hope it is not a crisis?’
‘No, indeed, his campaign against the French is going well. I believe he wants you to help him with a new fortification.’
‘Then tell him that I will be with him directly and will be honoured to serve him again.’
‘We are to wait and be your escort; we are billeted at Skipton.’
‘Very well, I’ll need two days to organize a few things here and to clean my weapons and armour.’
‘We will wait for you at Skipton, but there is no need to prepare your old weapons. The King has sent you new arms and a fine bay destrier.’
The Lionheart had been generous, my new weapons and armour were of the finest quality – even William Marshal or Mercadier would have been proud to own them. He had also been thoughtful – he had remembered that my colours were those of the redoubtable Hereward – and had sent me a new shield and pennon in the gules, sable and gold of legend. He had even made sure that the back of the shield had a cross-member to which I could peg my false arm and hook.
Negu had been at the nearby village of Giggleswick when my summons arrived, and I had mixed feelings about telling her of the King’s command. I was torn between my duty to the King I revered and my desire to remain in the paradise that was Bolton and Negu.
But she saw the situation much more clearly and was adamant about what I should do.
‘The King gave you two years; he’s been true to his word. If he has sent for you, he needs you. You lose nothing. I will still be here, and so will the Priory – hopefully a little bigger than it is now.’
‘But the campaign may go on for years. And if he wants me to help build his fortifications, I could be there until doomsday!’
‘Well, that would not be ideal. But you are his sworn retainer; you have little choice. If needs be, I will come out and join you.’
‘But what about Bolton?’
‘Magnus is more than capable of taking care of the priory on his own. Why don’t we give it two years? And then, if you’re still there, I will join you.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course! I survived for fifteen years without you, so I can surely manage two more. If there is no change at the turn of the century, when you will be approaching fifty years of age, I’m sure the King would let you go and allow you to return to Bolton.’
Despite Negu’s reassurances and the clarity of her pragmatism, it was difficult to leave Bolton. I had to remind myself of my duty to the King. I also remembered my promise to Alun when he was dying, and my original mission from Earl Harold.
Throughout my journey to Portsmouth, I was haunted by the contrast in my emotions between my current summons to serve King Richard and my first journey to Westminster, as a young recruit, to join the service of his father. As a callow youth, every step was a stride into an exciting new world and I feared nothing: now, every step took me further away from Negu and I had far too much to lose to countenance fearless bravado.
It was only when we had passed Rouen and reached a huge loop in the Seine at Thuit, twenty-five miles to the south-west, that I saw what the Lionheart had in mind for me. On the far side of the bend, on the eastern bank, hundreds of artisans and peasant labourers were constructing a burgh of some size. Above the bustle, on a limestone precipice 300 feet above the valley, another large group of men were hewing rock to level the top of the crag. I knew immediately that this was going to become my obsession for some time to come.
When I saw the King, he was the epitome of health and vigour.
‘Ranulf, my dear friend, I am so pleased to see you. How is Negu? And how is the foundation?’
‘She is blooming, my Lord, and the priory is growing by the day.’
‘You don’t mean she’s pregnant?’
‘No, sire, that would make life rather difficult for us—’
‘Neither is Bérengère. Sadly, there have been no more pregnancies. But let us dwell on easier matters; I will tell you about my plans here.’
He took me to his campaign tent which – unlike the headquarters for a battle, full of commanders and lieutenants – was heaving with master masons and sappers.
‘I have been able to win back Normandy’s heartland from Philip. But before I push on to secure the Vexin, I must make Rouen safe from attack.’
He strode over to a large table, on which lay a broad sheet of vellum and an assortment of rules, set squares and compasses.
‘I’ve looked at ground in the border area between Normandy and France. It’s no wonder the Norman dukes found it so difficult to keep their south-east border secure; the Seine cuts through it like a knife through butter. I intend to build a monolith on the river so resilient that it will blunt any knife, no matter how formidable. Come, let’s take a look at it.’
With his entire team in our wake, he pulled me outside like a child excited by a new toy.
‘Isn’t it magnificent? It reminds me of Earl Harold’s home at St Cirq Lapopie. On it, I’m going to build the Castle of the Rock, the mightiest fortification in Christendom.’
Becoming even more animated, he then pulled me back inside the tent.
‘I am the master mason
. Look at the drawing, it’s stupendous, even if I do say so myself! The main bailey’s outer walls have fifteen round towers, protected by a ditch forty feet deep. After that, there is a massive inner wall, surrounded by another ditch, plus a drawbridge and a portcullis. Then, in the middle of the inner bailey, there is a third and final redoubt, the keep. All the walls will be eighteen feet thick.’
I was amazed.
‘Eighteen feet, my Lord? No castle has ever had walls that size.’
‘This one will! But that is only the half of it. There will be two wells, which will be dug down to river level, three hundred feet deep. But the most important part is the high middle wall.’
He leaned over the drawing and began to outline his design.
‘Not only will it have walls of great depth, but they will be constructed to a new design. Having watched for years as straight walls crumble under the impact of huge stone missiles, I’ve realized that defensive walls shouldn’t be straight. The walls of my middle bastion are nineteen concentric arcs. Look: missiles will slide off, rather than punch holes in the outside. Also, the circular shape means that the arrow slits have a much wider arc for shooting – so, no blind spots!’
I had never seen anything like it. His arced walls were a series of curves, like half towers, and as soon as I saw them I realized how effective they could be.
‘My Lord, this talent is in your blood. Hereward’s wife, Torfida – you will have read about her – understood the formulae and skills of the master masons, and worked on the great cathedrals. Her daughter, Estrith, Earl Harold’s mother, was one of the churchwrights of Norwich.’
‘I know; they have been my inspiration.’
I peered at the plans and drawings and soon saw another feature that was not familiar.
‘Sire, all the towers have overhanging structures at their top. What are they?’
‘Another of my rather clever ideas. I call them “machicolations”; it comes from an old form of my Occitan language, from “macher”. In English it means something like “neck crusher”. Each of the towers will have stone corbels at the top, so that I can build an overhang of about a foot. There will be holes in the overhang, so that—’
He had devised another idea that was so simple, yet so clever, that as soon as he described it, I was able to finish his sentence.
‘—so that the defenders can drop missiles on their attackers and “machicolate” them!’
‘Exactly, using incendiaries, or hot oil.’
‘It’s very clever, sire.’
‘To tell the truth, they are not entirely my original idea, I saw them on the barbican at Darum – a very clever Muslim engineer must have dreamed them up – but I’m happy to take the credit.’
I looked at the dimensions on the plan and worked out its scale.
‘Sire, it’s a colossus; it will take years to build.’
‘No, fifteen months; these men are going to build it for me, and you’re going to make sure they do it on time.’
‘Fifteen months is surely not possible, sire.’
‘We have done the calculations. I have recruited every mason in the Empire, and many more from elsewhere. They will have hundreds of carpenters and labourers to support them. By the end of September, you will have an army of six thousand men here. Your budget is twenty thousand pounds, and your completion date is January 1198 – eighteen months from now. Any questions?’
Further questions were futile. Although not a stone had been laid, and most of the workforce had not yet arrived, six thousand men was a mighty host – and twenty thousand pounds was an enormous budget. I remembered back to the King’s Council at Nottingham, when the Chancellor had announced that the King’s annual income from the entire English realm was just over twenty-five thousand pounds.
I was required to meet a near impossible challenge, but I had been given the resources to make the Lionheart’s dream come true. I set to work with two incentives: first, to pick up the King’s gauntlet; and second, to return home to Negu as soon as possible.
33. Castle of the Rock
The King left Les Andelys in the autumn of 1196 to resume his war against the French. Subtle diplomacy was as vital to his new campaign as his ability on the battlefield. Indeed, his skills in the political arena were becoming as formidable as his military prowess.
His strategy was impressive. His new Castle of the Rock on the Seine would be his fulcrum for an attack on the Vexin. But at the same time, he would use diplomacy to persuade some of King Philip’s vital allies to change their allegiance. He had two main targets – the old nemeses of his dynasty – the Counts of Toulouse, and the immensely rich and powerful Counts of Flanders. They were his most important neighbours and, for France, their allegiance was critical.
The year had brought a stroke of luck for the Lionheart, one which opened a door of opportunity to strike a deal with the Toulousains. The old count, Raymond V, an irascible old war horse who had no time for his old rivals from Aquitaine, had died, to be succeeded by his son, Raymond VI, who was a much more pliable man.
In October, the King met with the Count in nearby Rouen, a meeting that I was asked to attend, where he forged an agreement that significantly changed the course of his war with Philip.
The Lionheart renounced the Plantagenet claim to Toulouse, granted Raymond the lordships of Cahors and Agen and gave him the hand in marriage of his sister, Joan. It was not the first time he had been prepared to use his sister’s charms as the mortar to solidify an alliance. This time, the bond worked.
Then, another death opened the other doorway to a kingdom that was central to the King’s plans. Baldwin IX succeeded his father as Count of Flanders; the Lionheart seized the moment.
He invited Baldwin, a dashing young prince that the Lionheart grew to like immensely, to Rouen. He wined and dined him, making available as many of the city’s most attractive young girls as the prince could ravish. The young man was in awe of the Lionheart. When he was offered generous trading terms in his most important markets, in England, and a goodwill payment of four thousand pounds, a new pact was formed.
With his allies secured diplomatically, the King went on a military offensive. He split his forces, giving the Grand Quintet freedom to mount their own assaults. William Marshal captured the fortress of Milly in the Loire, in May 1197, and Mercadier pulled off an even bigger coup by capturing King Philip’s cousin, Philip of Dreux, the Bishop of Beauvais. This was perhaps the man the Lionheart despised more than any other; he had spread the poisonous rumour that the King had been behind the assassination of Conrad of Montferrat on the streets of Acre. He had the Bishop imprisoned and told his jailor to throw away the key.
The King himself took Dangu, a castle in the Vexin only four miles from Gisors. The tide of the war began to turn in his favour and many more strongholds fell to him in Berry and the Auvergne. By September 1197, satisfied that he had won the first phase of the war, the King sent for Count Baldwin and together they sent an envoy to King Philip, calling for a truce.
The three men met in a meadow close to the Castle of the Rock on the Seine, a spot chosen deliberately by the Lionheart, so that Philip could see the huge bulwark rising above him. The meeting was not amicable. There was too much bitterness from years of conflict between them – especially from their animosities in the Holy Land – and Philip’s plotting and scheming afterwards. Neither Richard nor Philip spoke; all the negotiations were conducted by intermediaries, while the two just stared at each other, their mutual contempt plain for all to see.
The Lionheart showed admirable restraint; as a younger man, he would not have been able to contain himself, and would have provoked a flaming row or worse.
Eventually, a truce was agreed for a year; trade would be resumed and prisoners exchanged. But there was not even a handshake to seal it. The two kings just rode away, without either of them ever acknowledging the other’s presence. Nevertheless, the pact was signed and the deed done.
Once again, the King h
ad used his head rather than his muscle. He needed to refill his coffers, re-equip his army and rest his men. He also wanted to oversee my work during the completion of the Castle of the Rock.
While the Lionheart had been fighting the French, I had been fighting the hourglass and the sundial. My arithmetic improved dramatically as I used the master masons to help me calculate the rate of progress of the walls against the passing of the days. The arrival of the autumn of 1197 slowed things down, but I paid the stonecutters and the masons a daily bonus in bad weather to keep them working. Once we got the flow right from the quarry to the masons’ yard, and from there to the building platforms on the walls, the rate of daily progress became consistent.
I enjoyed the challenge, but as sleep became a luxury, fatigue became overwhelming. Even when I did fall asleep, my dreams – which were mainly nightmarish in content – involved the incessant rhythm of the mason’s mallet and endless miles of limestone walls that, more often than not, tumbled down on top of me.
By the middle of October, I had the Lionheart’s company at Les Andelys on a full-time basis once more. His energy was as relentless as usual.
‘You have done a remarkable job, Ranulf, and you’re on schedule. Do you have a firm completion date for me?’
‘I do, sire, the middle of January.’
‘Good, let’s say the Feast of the Epiphany.’
‘But, my Lord, that’s the sixth!’
‘I know, but it would be ideal to raise the Three Lions on the Castle of the Rock on such an auspicious day.’
In early December, I offered the men extra shifts. They were already earning small fortunes, but most of them grabbed with both hands the opportunity to earn even more. We took no rest, except for half a day on Christmas morning so that mass could be said.
By Tuesday 6 January 1198, we were ready.
It was like a coronation. Queen Eleanor came, and the Grand Quintet were there; most of the dignitaries from the Empire south of the Channel attended, as did several from England. Drums, horns and trumpets heralded the raising of the Lionheart’s standard, while the 6,000 men who had built the goliath, and the thousands more in the local area who had supported them, threw up a roar that rolled down the valley of the Seine and must have been heard in Paris.
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