by Ian Mortimer
The highway structure of the kingdom—that is to say the network of roads connecting the towns—is based on the network of Roman roads reaching westward to Exeter and northward to the border of Scotland. This amounts to about ten thousand miles of roads. The Gough Map shows about three thousand miles of main roads in use in 1360; close examination reveals that about 40 percent of these are of Roman origin.4 These were almost all constructed before the end of the second century, and so it is not surprising to know that their condition varies. In some places the stones are still in place, deeply rutted where cartwheels have worn away the surface. In other places the stones have been taken away to build something else. Sometimes you find interruptions in the road due to subsidence or a large fallen tree. Even an important road like the Fosse Way can be blocked from time to time. Thus not all Roman roads are now as straight as they once were. In fact, not all Roman roads are still where they once were. Where the stones of an old road are at angles and uneven, they may present more of an obstacle than a surface, and in such cases the medieval road tends to run along smoother ground nearby. Also, a large number of towns are off the Roman network. Plymouth, for instance, has no Roman foundation and thus is nowhere near a Roman road. The same goes for every town in Cornwall—the farthest west the Romans built was Exeter. One can say the same for the rich town of Coventry, the university town of Oxford, and most of the towns established on new sites by Edward I. So, although the road system is based on that built by the Romans, do not imagine that this means there are smooth flagstone-covered straight roads emanating from each town in all directions.
The highway network is supplemented by the local networks: the streets and alleys of towns, the lanes between enclosed fields, and the wide paths and drove ways (for driving sheep) across the open fields and common land. In addition there are lanes between manors, lanes connecting farmsteads to the centers of the villages, roads connecting hamlets to the local churches, cartways, portways (highways between markets and ports), and monastic roads (connecting monks’ churches with their estates). Some of these will be along old Roman roads but most will be medieval constructions—if there is any construction to speak of. A number of old lych ways and packhorse routes are merely tracks and paths across high moorland. The sheer diversity of roads precludes a neat, collective description.
On the whole, the main highways are kept in good repair. They have to be, for the king regularly travels along them. True, he does not travel around the whole kingdom; no fourteenth-century reigning king visits Cornwall or Devon, for example.5 But on the whole any roads found blocked or in a bad state of repair result in a speedy royal writ being dispatched to the manorial lord in charge of their maintenance. Thus kings and lords are able to maintain relatively high speeds. In January 1300 the sixty-year-old Edward I and his whole court are able to trot along at a regular nineteen miles per day, even though there are only nine hours of daylight and at least two of those hours are spent eating. In September 1336 a youthful Edward III, unencumbered by his household, rides to York at an average speed of fifty-five miles per day.6 This would not be possible if the highways were in such a state that he has to worry about his valuable horses stumbling.
Other roads, however, are not so well maintained. Constantly you will hear in manorial courts how so-and-so has let the road outside his house become impassable, blocking it with timber, broken carts, and rubbish. Sometimes too you will find that the offending blockage is the overflow of a latrine pit after heavy rain, which has left feces, sticks, and farmyard debris all over the road. When hillside paths collapse, the packhorse drivers and other travelers simply find a way around the treacherous part and make a new path. The same applies to the drove ways; because these are not Roman roads but medieval rights of way, with no actual marks as to where the road is, the drivers simply move the “road” to the left or right when one part becomes unusable. The most treacherous roads are the lanes and highways connecting manors and small towns. Sometimes the local residents see the opportunity to get some clay cheaply by digging it out of the road. In good weather this makes the road surface uneven, necessitating a detour. In wet weather it creates deep puddles. One notorious spot is the road between Egham and Staines. In bad weather it will look as if you are heading into a series of flooded stretches of road; there is nothing to warn you that the water is between eight and twelve feet deep. In 1386 a man drowns in one of them. The abbot of Chertsey, who is responsible for keeping the road in good repair, has the audacity to claim the man’s goods, on account of the death occurring on his land.7
Bridges
We take bridges for granted. Almost always, when a modern road meets a river, there is a bridge to help us across. Riding through medieval England you will soon realize that good stone bridges are relatively scarce. If you are riding along a highway between two prosperous and reasonably close market towns, or a highway connecting a county town with London, the chances are that you will have a pleasant jaunt over a smoothly paved stone structure with sharply pointed arches and fine triangular cutwaters projecting on either side. However, if you are traveling off the highway, most of the time you will find your trackway simply disappears into the mud and flow of the river. Occasionally pedestrians might benefit from stepping-stones or a clapper bridge (in the West Country), but more often than not you will get wet.
The great age of stone bridge building begins in the reign of King John (1199–1216). London’s great bridge dates from then. The other great stone bridges—such as those at Exeter and Rochester—are later thirteenth-century constructions. Before that, river crossings were either fords or wooden bridges. Even now, in the fourteenth century, many significant rivers have wooden bridges, in various states of repair. Some are so rickety you would be well advised not to risk crossing them but to ride through the original ford, which usually remains to the side. In very hilly and highland regions there tend to be very few bridges. As the land is that much poorer, the absentee manorial lords are inclined to see little reason repeatedly to rebuild a wooden structure which is incapable of withstanding the fast-flowing torrents that pour down in winter. For this reason, if you travel into the Lake District or the skirts of Dartmoor, you will find that a good bridge is as rare as a well-maintained road. Westmorland has twelve stone bridges by 1400.8 That equates to one bridge for every forty-one thousand acres in the county.
The construction of stone bridges might put you in mind of the huge number of parish churches which are being rebuilt, extended, or refashioned in this century. The two are not unconnected. Just as founding a chantry or rebuilding a church is seen as a pious use of money, so too is the building of a stone bridge. It is something done for other people and thus is exactly that form of long-lasting conspicuous charity from which fourteenth-century men and women derive such pride. Hence the building of bridges is heavily dependent on the increasing wealth of the merchant classes. Like the upkeep of the parish church, the maintenance of a bridge is considered a pious act; the responsibilities of a patron do not end on completion. Hence most stone bridges are kept in good shape. This is helped in many cases by the local bishop granting a plenary indulgence to all those who contribute towards the repair of the structure. In this way a large number of people can be conscripted through religion to serve the community: the person who originally endows the bridge is immortalized and those who contribute to the upkeep are forgiven their sins. In keeping with these religious connotations, it is wholly fitting that most great bridges—and many smaller ones—have chapels built on them.
Tolls
Before moving away from the subject of bridges, there is one very obvious and decidedly nonreligious way of keeping it in good repair: levy a toll on those who cross it.
Imagine you are a merchant. You will have to pay to cross a bridge into town. You will have to pay extra for any cart you are bringing with you, according to what is inside the cart. If there is no bridge you will have to pay a toll for the ferry instead. Then you may have to pay to enter the town
by a certain gate. Once in the town you will have to pay for the market stall (stallage) and for storing your goods (lastage). If you are at a port you may have to pay wharfage and cranage too. You may have to pay extra to the guild merchant for the right to sell certain specific commodities. And all this is on top of the customs and pannage (toll on imported cloth) you pay when importing goods into the country in the first place.
Nothing which can be priced is given away freely. Even if you are not a merchant but riding about for private purposes you may have to pay murage (a toll to ensure the defensibility of the town walls) and pavage (a toll to pay for the paving of the streets). A toll to cross a bridge (pontage) is thus just one of several dozen sorts of toll. Moreover, as you are a stranger, these tolls will fall disproportionately heavily on you. Towns which manage to acquire a charter tend also to pay for the freedom from tolls at the same time. If the lord granting the charter is just a minor lord, this will not extend very far. But if he is a great lord it may extend to all the other towns in his authority. If he is the king, then the freedom from paying tolls will apply to all the other towns which hold a royal charter. So a freeman of the city of York, for example, does not have to pay a toll when entering another royal borough charging murage and pavage to all those entering. This freedom from tolls applies so widely that the shortfall has to be made up by those who are liable, and that includes strangers, like you.
How much are these tolls? They vary from place to place. You should expect to pay 2d for a ferry from Westminster to London. Taking a cart into London will set you back 1d. Taking a full cart out of London will cost you another 1d, or more, depending on what you are carrying. In 1356 there is a drive to raise money to repair the city roads, and so every visitor arriving at each of the seven gates is required to pay 1d. Each packhorse you have with you will cost an extra farthing (¼d). In this way, traveling between towns with a couple of servants and a few horses can be an expensive business. The freedom from paying royal tolls—available to freemen of royal boroughs—is thus a significant advantage.
Road Transport
The principal reason why you might think twice about traveling by road is the danger of attack. The Statute of Winchester requires all manorial lords to clear the ground on both sides of the highway for a distance of two hundred feet. This includes clearing all the trees as well as the undergrowth, excepting only the great oaks, which are so valuable for the construction of buildings and ships. This clearance is not always effectively maintained, and people do still get robbed by highwaymen. In some cases, a lord might pay for armed guards to patrol a stretch of road, when many travelers are coming to an important fair within his lordship, for example. But this is rare. Normally you will have no protection other than your fellow travelers. It is often a good idea to meet up at an inn with others taking the same road as you.
Before setting out you will need to acquire a horse, unless you are determined to walk, like the most zealous pilgrims. Horses come in a wide range of shapes and sizes. It is commonly said that “a good horse should have fifteen properties and conditions, namely: three of a man, three of a woman, three of a fox, three of a hare and three of an ass: like a man, he should be bold, proud and hardy; like a woman, he should be fair breasted, fair of hair, and easy to lie upon; like a fox, he should have a fair tail, short ears and go with a good trot; like a hare he should have a great eye, a dry head and run well; and like an ass, he should have a big chin, a flat leg, and a good hoof.”9
The largest horses, and by far the most expensive, are warhorses, known as “destriers.” These can cost up to £40—in exceptional cases they might change hands for even larger sums, up to £80.10 obviously, such animals are only for wealthy lords. Most of the warhorses which are lost or killed in Edward III’s campaign of 1338–40 in the Low Countries are worth between £10 and £20.11 This is still more than you should expect to pay for a riding mount. A good courser—for hunting—will cost you up to £10. You will be looking for a good palfrey or riding horse, nearer the £4 or £5 mark. Animals worth less than this—rouncies, hobbies, nags, and hackneys—are usually only good for shorter distances or carrying baggage. Packhorses and sumpter horses are normally in the 5s to 10s category; cart horses are a little more. Note that blind horses are usually worth only about half their usual price. In case you are wondering why there are so many blind horses, it is because they have been stolen, and blinding a horse is one way to prevent it from finding its way back home or recognizing its true master.
Having acquired your mount, you will need a number of other items. Expect to pay up to 5s for a good saddle. A halter and its accoutrements will be an extra 6d to 12d. As for spurs: the rowel type are in vogue (spinning spiked wheels on a small axle behind your heel); these will cost about 2s. If you cannot afford rowels, a plain metal prick buckled to your shoes will do (6d). In bad weather you will need a protective leather or waxed overmantle. Few women ride sidesaddle (the practice is introduced by the ladies of Anne of Bohemia’s entourage, after Anne’s marriage to Richard II in 1382), so to preserve decorum a riding skirt is essential. Some people travel with many more objects, for instance a knife, a spoon, a bowl, a lantern, candles, a comb, a horse brush, shoemakers’ thread (strong enough to sew the saddle back together after it has burst its stuffing), a bodkin, and a leather flask (for ale to drink on the road). Those on long journeys go even further and load up a packhorse with their own bedding, a cushion, a pillow, sheets of muslin or ordinary linen, and woollen blankets. Finally, do not forget your medal showing St. Christopher, the patron saint of travelers. Given the pits in the roads and the outlaws in the woods, you might need it.12
As you would expect, the more you take with you, the slower your progress. It will take time to pack up all this bedding. It takes time to lead a few packhorses along even the best highway. Thus, when it comes to traveling at speed, less is definitely more. Most travelers in no particular rush to get to their destination will cover perhaps three miles per hour. There is a limit to how many hours each day you want to remain in the saddle, so most people set themselves a target destination and attempt to go no farther. A journey of fifteen miles a day is quite respectable for most people, especially if they are older, fatter, or accompanied by a large household. A king traveling at twenty miles a day with his court is practically dragging them along; ten miles per day is more usual. It is rare for people traveling alone to cover more than thirty miles a day in summer, or more than twenty in winter.13
Higher speeds are possible. A messenger who is fit and has a good horse can cover much greater distances. If he is a royal messenger, with an important message to pass on and enough money to hire extra horses on the way, he can achieve considerable speeds. The longdistance record for summer is held by the man who rides with news of the death of Edward I, at Burgh on Sands, at about nones (roughly 3 p.m.) on July 7, 1307, and delivers the same news to Prince Edward—now Edward II—in London on or before July 11.14 This amounts to a distance of at least 310 miles, covered at a rate of about 80 miles per day. In autumn a fast rate is represented by the urgent message sent from Berkeley to Lincoln via Nottingham on September 21, 1327. The messenger covers the distance of about 150 miles in two or three days, arriving during the night of the twenty-third.15 An autumn speed of sixty miles per day is thus possible, or even a little more if the roads are dry and the messenger has moonlight to help him. As for winter, news that Richard II has died is brought to Henry IV by a valet from Pontefract (178 miles) in February 1400. This takes between three and four days, including one change of horses, and equates to about fifty miles per day.16 These are exceptional cases. Not even royal messengers normally travel at these speeds. Most messengers cover between twenty and thirty miles per day (depending on the season). Their horses are their own, not the king’s, and so wearing them out on royal errands is the last thing they want to do.17
If your horse does fall ill, you will need to pay for veterinary care. Many farriers will be able to advise you on the best
treatments for your ailing steed. Fat might be applied to the legs and hooves, as might honey and butter. In some cases, plasters and pills can be obtained for sick horses.18 Dry accommodation, food, and rest is the best palliative for most animals. When valuable horses are hurt in tournaments they may well receive surgical care, such as dressings for their wounds. In January 1397 Henry of Lancaster buys various medicines to help a horse of his called “Lyard Gylder,” which he has to leave in Calais. He also pays for medicines for another horse of his which he has brought over from France. The two vet’s bills in this case come to 3s 7d. A third horse of his, called “Sorrell Blackwell” falls ill soon afterwards and requires 5s worth of medicine. When his destriers fall sick, the vet’s bills go much higher. One for food and medicine for “several destriers and coursers” hits £6.19 Traveling is not a cheap business, especially if you are a lord with many servants and many horses.
If you do not fancy riding, what other options are there? For a start you will probably rule out carts. Carts are two-wheeled vehicles, drawn by horses, for transporting things, not people, and normally quite specific things at that. A dung cart is for transporting dung, a hay cart is for hay and bushels of grain. If a cart is used for moving coal, it will probably have no other purpose. Animals are moved on the hoof, and most other market produce is shifted on packhorses. Even the largest vehicles—four-wheeled wagons—are generally only used by great households for transporting the lord’s equipment: his armor or large purchases of tuns of wine. Wagons are sometimes also used for bulk transport to and from a fair. These cumbersome contraptions, pulled by six, seven, or eight horses, rarely carry people other than the driver. They are simply too slow, being even slower than a large team of packhorses, and unable to cover more than twelve miles a day.20