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A
FOREIGNER, noting
the enthusiasm with which Englishmen visit their old Cathedrals and
Abbeys,
might imagine a profitable reconstruction of English history from a
series of
pilgrimages to its mediæval military remains. Certainly there are
prehistoric
and British earthworks, especially in the English hill-country; there
are the
Roman forts — the first border-holds of England — dotted along the wall
of
Hadrian and the Saxon shore; at their highest navigable points many
English
rivers flow past Danish camps. Castle Hill, at Thetford, may be put
down as
Anglo-Saxon, while, as the Bayeux Tapestry proves beyond a doubt,
Hastings is
contemporary in time and identical in situation with the Norman
invasion. Why
not then see the whole pageant of history in these Norman fortresses,
in the
adulterine castles raised under Stephen, in the works of that great
builder
Henry III, and of his son Edward I, Conqueror of Wales? And why not in
the
Cinque Ports; in Bodiam, a manor house fortified under Richard II for
the
protection of Hythe in case of a French landing; and in deserted
Amberley,
raised by the Bishops of Chichester? The chain extends link by link
through the
Wars of the Roses to the sea-coast forts fostered by Henry VIII and
Elizabeth;
it includes Peveril, in the Peak district, around which Scott wove his
romance
of the Stuarts, and Oxford, defended by Prince Rupert; and even — a
weak link
indeed — the Strawberry Hill Gothic mansions, so typical of the
eighteenth
century; a chain which did not end with the Martello towers of the
Napoleonic
wars, for are not English cliffs to-day still crowned by trenches and
barbed
wire? With these earthworks English warfare returned to its earliest
beginnings. A
foreigner with a
keen eye to distinguish between true and false would, indeed, derive
profit
from such a pilgrimage. But he would have to realize that few English
castles
are faithful witnesses to the past. Of the adulterine castles
characteristic of
the anarchy of Stephen’s reign, hardly one can be identified with
certainty
to-day — it may be, indeed, that earthworks commonly thought to be
British are
relics of these very castles. Pontefract, which once was called the
Troy of
England, is now a heap of rubble in a garden; Colchester, built by the
Conqueror against the Danes, has become the shelter for a museum; York
and
Lincoln are now used as prisons, which, as one writer on the subject
naïvely
remarks, “naturally bars access to the public”; Peveril has gained a
mistaken
fame amongst tourists, for Haddon Hall appears to have been the real
scene of
Scott’s novel. Such a man would be wise to concentrate on those castles
which
preserve or reconstruct their original strength of outline, which
indicate
their former purpose and importance. And of these castles Alnwick is
one. Although
the castle
of Alnwick has been rebuilt, it still boasts of the name of Percy, a
family as
famous in Border literature as the strongholds they maintained; it
still stands
prepared for a siege as it did in the time of Harry Hotspur, allowing
for the
improbable event of an army approaching with trebuchets and mangonels;
with
antiquarian pride the Dukes of Northumberland have restored to it much
of the
apparatus of defence; while the stone “defenders” — figures of bowmen
on the
battlements meant to frighten the enemy — still mount guard over the
gate
house. It is, in fact, an excellent example of the creation of a modern
country
house without prejudice to the form of a mediæval castle. Lying on a
slight
slope from the south bank of the river Aln, the castle was
strategically
important in its command of the road between Berwick and Newcastle,
which made
it inevitably a focus of Border warfare. Its known history began soon
after the
Conquest, with the knowledge that the family of De Vesci was in
possession of
the site in the reign of Henry I. Eustace FitzJohn, who married into
the De
Vesci family, is commonly believed to have built the castle. The whole
formation of the building points to the date at which he held the
barony, with
which the innermost gateway and the lower part of the outer curtain
wall bear
evident traces of identification. So the period of the castle’s
building may be
placed in the first half of the twelfth century. Throughout
its
reconstructions — in the fourteenth century, in 1760, and again in 1854
— the
plan of the castle has not been altered to any great extent. The mound
is
covered with domestic buildings, and the whole surrounded by a curtain
wall
making an enclosure which is divided into two wards. FitzJohn probably
built
the curtain walls, levelled the mound to its present height, and
replaced by
his shell keep in stone the wooden donjon and palisade, which, together
with
the domestic buildings within the palisade, formed the earliest castle
on this
spot. The pure form of a shell keep has been obscured, however, by the
present
cluster of towers and connecting buildings which evolved as military
needs
became less pressing than the desire for comfort and splendour. Still it
never lost
the character of a shell keep, for, if its possible use as an ultimate
refuge
had ceased altogether to have weight with the Percys, they would have
copied
the style of Windsor by building their palace in one of the two wards. Of the
castle’s many
interesting features one is struck at once by the outer and inner
gatehouses.
The outer gatehouse, fronted by the barbican, projects altogether
nearly a
hundred feet outside the west curtain. Originally the castle ditch,
which
passed between barbican and gatehouse, had a loop passing in front of
the
barbican, so that the gatehouse was protected by two drawbridges and a
portcullis, in addition to its flanking rectangular buttresses
corbelled out
above into oblong turrets containing shelters. An enemy force might
well
hesitate before attempting to enter here, as the long, narrow passage
of the
barbican would shepherd an attacking party together like sheep in a
pen. The
danger of an attempt to turn the flank of the gatehouse by a breach in
the
curtain wall was met by a series of flanking towers, from which an
enemy who
did succeed in forcing an entrance to one of the two wards would be
assailed in
the rear as well as from the towers of the keep. On the north, towards
the
river, the keep was formerly unprotected by the curtain wall, as though
inviting an attack from a quarter more easily defended by the broad
ditch and
by the natural slope of the river bank, which was artificially scarped.
Communications
between the outer and inner wards were safeguarded by the middle gate,
and the
entrance to the keep in the inner ward by a gatehouse, evidently built
in the
fourteenth century around the gateway which protected the citadel of
Eustace
FitzJohn. Of this a fine Norman arch remains. No doubt a
lover of
romance whose imagination is most easily stirred by the obvious would
linger
long over the prison chambers in the arches of the gates, complete with
underground oubliettes for refractory prisoners, but these were
probably used
more often as a repository of herrings and salt meat than for
despairing
captives. More interesting, however — especially to an artist — is the
picturesque well within the courtyard of the keep. The hood of the well
has the
form of three niches within a containing arch. The well shaft rises
through the
central niche, and in the other two are wooden wheels set round with
pegs for
the hoisting of buckets. Above is a statue of a monk blessing the
source,
probably an eighteenth-century embellishment. The mediæval architect
lavished
his ornamentation upon the most necessary features of his building,
thereby
differing from his modern successor, to whom ornament often appears a
means of
filling up blank spaces; and this well is a reminder that a siege was
not a
highly adventurous series of sorties, or of hand-to-hand fighting along
the
walls, but a test of passive endurance, until either the supplies of
food and
drink failed the besieged, or the army of the besieger melted away to
their
fields and flocks. In all
Border
warfare Alnwick was one of the strongest fortresses on the English
side. In its
earliest days, when it could have been little more than a palisaded
mound,
Malcolm III of Scotland was killed there by an English knight of Robert
de
Mowbray’s levy raised on behalf of William Rufus. Near the Ravine tower
in the
north-east curtain wall, variations in the masonry mark what is known
as the
“Bloody Gap,” said traditionally to be the position of a breach made by
the
Scots; but a modern historian, more restrained than the legendmonger,
declares
that it more probably marks the site of a fallen curtain tower, and as
Eustace
FitzJohn built the Norman castle some time after the date of this
affray, the
truth is, unfortunately, on the side of the historian. Another
Scottish
monarch met a less dignified fate outside the walls of the castle of
FitzJohn.
William the Lion had invaded England on behalf of Henry II’s rebel
sons. He was
besieging Alnwick with a small force of 500 knights, while, unknown to
him,
Odonel de Umfraville, Bernard de Balliol, and other northern barons
were
advancing to its relief throughout the night, by forced march and in
fog. Andrew
Lang well
describes the scene in his history of Scotland:— “So thick
was the
air that some were for returning. Balliol, however, insisted on an
advance. They
passed unseen by Warkworth, then beleaguered by the Scots, and when the
cloud
lifted found themselves near Alnwick Castle, which was in friendly
hands.
Thither they rode, when they beheld a party of knights tilting in a
meadow. It
was like a scene in the ‘Morte d’Arthur’: the blind advance in an
unknown
enchanted land, the apparition of the castle above the breaking cloud,
the sun
shining on the armour of the strange tilting knights. To them the
Yorkshire
horsemen seemed part of one of their own scattered companies; but when
William
marked the English cognizances, he, for he was one of the Scottish
tilters,
rode straight at the ranks of England. His horse was pierced by a
spear, and
the greatest prize of feudal warfare, a hostile King, with his lords of
Norman
names, was taken.” William
the Lion
was ignominiously led away to Newcastle with his legs tied beneath his
horse’s
belly; and the park of Alnwick to-day glories in two monuments marking
the
downfall of Scottish kings. The line
of de
Vesci continued until the end of the thirteenth century, when the
castle came
into the hands of the Percys, with whose name it is inseparably
connected. The
history of that family was for centuries the history of England, of
Scotland,
and, in fact, of France as well, so that in the restorations of the
fourteenth
century was combined the experience of those who appreciated the
necessities of
Border warfare with the military knowledge learnt under the Black
Prince in
France. In the rebellion of the Percys against Henry IV, then, the
capture of
Alnwick must have been one of the most serious problems which the King
was
called upon to face. A memory of Harry Hotspur lingers in a rectangular
projection of the north-east curtain, which is traditionally called
Hotspur’s
Chair; and it may have been one of the hero’s favourite posts of
observation.
But Henry IV was strong enough to take Alnwick in 1405. Hotspur had
already
fallen at Shrewsbury in 1403, and the Earl of Northumberland shared the
violent
fate that overtook so many of his family at Bramham Moor in 1408. The
interest of
Alnwick lies as much in its past history as in its present state. It
began as
one of the first outposts set up by the victorious Norman barons
against the
Scots. It became the possession of a family proud of a name that went
back to
the early days of the Northmen, a name which was to become an integral
part of
English literature and history. Alnwick maintains in our day an
importance
appropriate to its position in the Middle Ages. The struggle for power
between
the baronage and the monarchy is forgotten, and the castle of the
Percys has
become their palace. ALNWICK CASTLE. |