Lincoln Castle, its formidable stone walls rising from the crest of the Lincoln Edge, has dominated the city’s skyline for nearly a millennium. To the modern visitor, it is a magnificent relic, a picturesque gateway to England’s medieval past. Yet, to understand its origins is to strip away this romantic veneer and see the fortress for what it was: a brutal and sophisticated instrument of foreign occupation. Built in 1068 by William the Conqueror, the castle was not a defensive shield for the local populace but a sharpened spike driven into the heart of a restive and resentful region. It was an apparatus of discipline, intimidation, and control, a Norman statement in stone and earth that the Anglo-Scandinavian world of Lincolnshire was finished. The families later entrusted with its command, most notably the constables who became hereditary castellans, were not merely basking in decorative prestige. They were wielding the concentrated military and political authority of the Crown. To be Castellan of Lincoln was to be the king’s eye, hand, and sword in a landscape that never fully forgot its pre-Conquest identity. The story of the castle, and of those who held it, is the story of medieval power itself—its technology, its application, and its profound impact on the lives of all who lived in its shadow, from the city merchants to the villagers of nearby manors like Brattleby.
The Scar of Conquest: Forging a Norman Stronghold
In the autumn of 1066, William, Duke of Normandy, won a single, decisive battle near Hastings. He had not, however, won a kingdom. The years that followed were a bloody, attritional struggle to impose Norman rule upon a vast and hostile Anglo-Saxon and Anglo-Danish population. The north of England, remote, proud, and with strong Scandinavian ties, was a particular crucible of resistance. An uprising in 1068, followed by a major Danish-backed rebellion in 1069, provoked William into a campaign of such calculated ferocity that it became known as the “Harrying of the North.” His strategy was not merely punitive; it was systemic. To hold this sprawling territory, he needed a network of royal strongholds, urban castles that could garrison his knights, suppress dissent, and project his authority over the surrounding shire.
It was during his first northern expedition in 1068 that William came to Lincoln. The city was a prize of immense strategic value. Situated at the junction of two major Roman roads, Ermine Street and the Fosse Way, and commanding the River Witham and its access to the sea, Lincoln was the administrative and economic hub of the third-largest shire in England. Its population was a prosperous and cosmopolitan mix of English and Danes, inhabitants of the former Danelaw who had little love for a new French-speaking master. William immediately recognised that to hold Lincolnshire, he must hold Lincoln—and to hold Lincoln, he must dominate it physically and psychologically.
His solution was swift and ruthless. He selected the south-western corner of the ancient Roman upper city, the Lindum Colonia, as the site for his new castle. This elevated position offered commanding views over the city and the flat plains of the Witham valley. But the ground was not empty. It was a densely populated quarter of the Anglo-Saxon town. The Domesday Book, compiled just eighteen years later in 1086, records the stark reality of the castle’s construction with bureaucratic coldness: “In Lincoln 166 houses have been destroyed on account of the castle.” This was not collateral damage; it was a deliberate act of political and social engineering. Over one hundred families, perhaps upwards of 600 people, were displaced. Their homes were unceremoniously demolished to make way for the Conqueror’s fortress. The act sent an unambiguous message to the citizens of Lincoln and the wider shire: this new regime was built upon the ruins of their world.
The initial structure was a classic Norman motte-and-bailey castle, a design perfected for rapid construction and effective control. A great earthen mound, the motte, was raised, crowned by a wooden keep. At its foot lay the bailey, a large, enclosed courtyard protected by a timber palisade and an outer ditch. This enclosure would have contained barracks, stables, a chapel, and workshops—a self-sufficient military base implanted into the city’s fabric. Unusually, Lincoln was provided with two mottes. One, the Great Tower motte (later crowned by the stone keep), was built in 1068. The second, smaller motte, now known as the Lucy Tower, was likely added in the 12th century, possibly during the civil war of King Stephen’s reign, reflecting the castle’s evolving strategic importance. The entire complex was integrated into the existing Roman walls, a pragmatic co-opting of ancient authority to legitimise and strengthen new power. For the inhabitants of manors like Brattleby, a mere eight miles north of the city, the new colossus on the hill was a permanent, brooding symbol of their subjugation.
The Hereditary Castellans: The de la Haye Dynasty and the Weight of Office
A castle is only as strong as the person who commands it. The office of castellan, or constable, was therefore one of the most critical appointments in the Norman state. The castellan was not a ceremonial governor but the king’s direct military and administrative deputy. He commanded the garrison, was responsible for the fortress’s upkeep and defence, and often presided over the shire court and county gaol, which were typically located within the castle’s walls. In a frontier region like post-Conquest Lincolnshire, the castellan’s loyalty was paramount.
Initially, William entrusted Lincoln Castle to a loyal Norman follower, Thorold of Bucknall. The castellanship, along with vast estates, soon passed through the female line via Thorold’s daughter and heiress, Lucy. An extraordinary figure of the Anglo-Norman aristocracy, Lucy’s marriages to a succession of powerful magnates—Ivo Taillebois, Roger fitz Gerold, and finally Ranulf le Meschin, Earl of Chester—consolidated immense wealth and influence, with the constableship of Lincoln Castle as a key asset. The office ultimately became hereditary in the family of the de la Haye, when Richard de la Haye, a prominent Lincolnshire and Normandy landholder, married Lucy’s granddaughter, Matilda de Verdun.
The de la Haye family thus became the hereditary castellans of Lincoln, a role they would hold for over a century. Their authority was rooted not just in the royal commission to hold the castle, but in their own extensive landholdings which constituted the ‘Barony of the Haye’. While their direct connection to the manor of Brattleby itself is not documented in this early period (Brattleby being held by the Bishop of Lincoln), their power radiated out from Lincoln across the entire county. The de la Hayes and their knights were the enforcers of the king’s peace, the collectors of his taxes, and the arbiters of his justice. Their presence ensured that the tendrils of royal power, anchored at the castle, reached into every village and wapentake. Holding the castle meant controlling the county gaol, giving them power over justice and imprisonment. It meant commanding the primary military force in the region, capable of responding to local unrest or baronial intrigue. This was not a hollow title; it was the active machinery of governance.
The importance of the castellan’s loyalty was thrown into sharp relief during the Anarchy (1135-1153), the devastating civil war between King Stephen and his cousin, the Empress Matilda. Lincoln became a pivotal theatre of the conflict, and control of its castle was the ultimate prize.
The Crucible of Civil War: Lincoln in the Anarchy
The death of Henry I in 1135 without a direct male heir plunged the Anglo-Norman realm into chaos. The throne was seized by his nephew, Stephen of Blois, but challenged by Henry’s daughter, the Empress Matilda. Lincolnshire, dominated by powerful and often opportunistic magnates, became a key battleground. The most powerful of these was Ranulf de Gernon, Earl of Chester, the great-grandson of the first castellan Thorold’s daughter Lucy, who harboured a strong claim to Lincoln Castle.
In late 1140, feigning friendship, Earl Ranulf and his half-brother William de Roumare seized Lincoln Castle through a cunning trick. The chronicle Gesta Stephani recounts how their wives paid a social call to the wife of the knight commanding the castle for King Stephen. While the women were conversing, Earl Ranulf, having arrived “as if to escort his wife home,” suddenly overpowered the unsuspecting garrison with his hidden men and took the fortress. The citizens of Lincoln, who were loyal to Stephen, were aghast and immediately sent word to the king.
Stephen, known for his decisive, if sometimes reckless, military energy, marched on Lincoln at Christmas and laid siege to his own castle. Earl Ranulf managed to escape and promptly raised a formidable army of his own, allied with his father-in-law, Robert, Earl of Gloucester, who was the Empress Matilda’s illegitimate half-brother and the leader of her cause. On 2 February 1141, this Angevin army arrived to relieve the siege, leading to the First Battle of Lincoln.
The ensuing clash, fought on the plain just west of the city walls, was a catastrophe for the king. Deserted by some of his key magnates at a critical moment, Stephen’s army was overwhelmed. The king himself fought with legendary bravery, first with his sword and then, when it shattered, with a Dane axe, before he was finally surrounded and captured. The battle was a stunning victory for the Empress’s faction, and it was made possible by their possession of Lincoln Castle. It had served as the perfect lure to draw Stephen into a trap and as a secure base from which to orchestrate his defeat. The events of 1141 demonstrated unequivocally that whoever held the castle held the strategic key to the entire region. For the next two generations, however, the castle’s fate would be defined not by a cunning earl, but by a woman of indomitable will.
Nicola de la Haye: Dame and Sheriff of Lincoln
The most remarkable chapter in the history of Lincoln Castle’s castellans is the story of Nicola de la Haye. Born around 1150, she inherited the hereditary castellanship and the barony of the Haye as the eldest daughter of Richard de la Haye. Upon her marriage to Gerard de Canville, a royal justice and favourite of Richard I, her husband exercised the office in her name. Yet Nicola was never a passive consort. She was steeped in the traditions of her family, understanding that holding Lincoln Castle was a sacred and dangerous trust. Her moment came during the calamitous reign of King John (1199-1216).
As John’s tyranny and military failures alienated a large portion of the English baronage, Nicola and her husband remained staunchly loyal. The castle became a vital royalist bastion in an increasingly hostile landscape. Gerard de Canville was dispossessed of his lands by Richard I for a time, but the family’s fortunes recovered under John, who relied on loyalists like the Canvilles to an exceptional degree. When Gerard died in 1215, the full weight of the castellanship and all its attendant dangers fell squarely upon Nicola’s shoulders. She was by then a widow in her sixties.
The year 1215 was one of seismic crisis. Faced with armed rebellion, King John was forced to seal Magna Carta at Runnymede. But the charter was a peace treaty that failed, and England plunged into the First Barons’ War. The rebel barons offered the English throne to Prince Louis, the son of the King of France, who landed in England with an army in May 1216. Lincolnshire was once again at the heart of the storm. The vast majority of the county’s magnates sided with the rebels and Prince Louis. Nicola de la Haye, holding Lincoln Castle, was one of the few remaining pillars of royal authority in the east of England. In recognition of her loyalty and competence, King John took the extraordinary step of also appointing her Sheriff of Lincolnshire, an office of immense administrative and judicial power almost unheard of for a woman.
John’s sudden death from dysentery at Newark in October 1216 left the royalist cause on the brink of collapse. The new king, Henry III, was only nine years old. With London and much of the south-east in French hands, the defence of the kingdom fell to a small group of loyalists led by the veteran knight William Marshal, the Earl of Pembroke, who was appointed Regent. Their position seemed hopeless.
In the spring of 1217, a large French and rebel army, led by the Comte du Perche, marched on Lincoln. Their objective was to crush the last major royalist stronghold in the region. They swiftly took the city, but the castle, defended by Dame Nicola and her garrison, held firm. What followed was a desperate siege. The French forces battered the castle walls with siege engines, but Nicola refused to yield. The chronicler Roger of Wendover vividly describes her resolute defence, stating she bore the siege “with a brave heart.”
William Marshal knew that if Lincoln Castle fell, the war was likely lost. Mustering all available royalist forces at Newark, he marched to relieve the siege. On the morning of 20 May 1217, the royalist army arrived at the outskirts of Lincoln. While a detachment under the ruthless Falkes de Bréauté was sent to break into the castle through a long-disused northern gate, injecting vital reinforcements, the main army stormed the city’s Roman-era Newport Arch.
The ensuing engagement, known to history as the Second Battle of Lincoln or, more colloquially, the "Lincoln Fair," was a chaotic street battle. Trapped between William Marshal’s army invading the city and Nicola’s garrison sallying out from the castle, the French and rebel forces were thrown into confusion. A pivotal moment came when a crossbowman, firing from the castle battlements under the command of Falkes de Bréauté, struck and killed the French commander, the Comte du Perche. Leaderless and demoralised, the rebel army broke and fled. The victory was total and decisive. Prince Louis’s bid for the English throne was shattered, and the future of the Plantagenet dynasty was secured.
At the heart of this triumph stood Nicola de la Haye. This elderly widow, acting as both castellan and sheriff, had held the fortress against overwhelming odds, buying the time William Marshal needed to save the kingdom. She perfectly embodied the brief given to the castellans of Lincoln: to be the unblinking eye and unwavering hand of the king, wielding real political and military power at a moment of supreme national crisis.
Conclusion: A Legacy in Stone and Authority
The story of Lincoln Castle in its first 150 years is the story of the Norman and Plantagenet monarchy in microcosm. It began as an instrument of brutal subjugation, a scar carved into an English city to ensure its obedience. It evolved into a sophisticated hub of administrative, judicial, and military power, the fulcrum upon which the fate of the entire county turned. Through the civil wars of the 12th and 13th centuries, its strategic value was repeatedly proven, its capture or defence often deciding the course of campaigns and the fate of kings.
The hereditary castellans, particularly the formidable Nicola de la Haye, were not simply custodians of a building. They were active agents of royal power, their mandate carrying immense weight and responsibility. Their authority was felt daily by the populace—in the justice meted out at the castle court, in the taxes collected by the sheriff, and in the presence of the knights of the garrison. For the people of the Lincolnshire countryside, including the tenants of the Bishop of Lincoln at Brattleby, the castle looming on its great hill was the constant, tangible embodiment of the crown’s reach. It was a source of order and security, but also a reminder of a power that could be arbitrary and overwhelming. More than just a fortress, Lincoln Castle was the central processor in the complex technology of medieval rule.
Sources & Further Reading
Primary Sources:
Domesday Book: A Complete Translation. (London: Penguin, 2003). See the entry for Lincolia (Lincoln) in the Lincolnshire folio. Gesta Stephani (The Deeds of Stephen), edited and translated by K. R. Potter. (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1976). Roger of Wendover. Flores Historiarum (Flowers of History), in Matthew Paris's English History from the Year 1235 to 1273*, translated by J. A. Giles. (London: H.G. Bohn, 1852).
Secondary Sources:
Bates, David. William the Conqueror. (Stroud: Tempus, 2004). Carpenter, David. The Minority of Henry III. (London: Methuen, 1990). Carpenter, David. Magna Carta. (London: Penguin Classics, 2015). Coss, Peter. The Lady in Medieval England, 1000-1500. (Stroud: Sutton Publishing, 1998). Hill, J. W. F. Medieval Lincoln. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1948). A foundational and comprehensive study of the city. Morris, Marc. King John: Treachery, Tyranny and the Road to Magna Carta. (London: Hutchinson, 2015). Wilkinson, Louise J. Nicola de la Haye and the Lordship of Lincoln. (Lincoln: Society for Lincolnshire History and Archaeology, 2004). This is the definitive short biography of Nicola. Wilkinson, Louise J. "Women and Power in the Baronia and Balleia of early Thirteenth-Century Lincoln," in Thirteenth Century England VII: Proceedings of the Durham Conference 1997, edited by Michael Prestwich, Richard Britnell, and Robin Frame. (Woodbridge: Boydell Press, 1999).