Hoping that did not involve climbing up on the scaffolding, André gamely followed as Richard led him across a bridge into the outer bailey. It was triangular and he saw at once that it would function very effectively as a barbican. Even assuming that the attackers got this far—and he doubted they would, for the site was protected on three sides by sheer chalk cliffs—they’d still be cut off from the middle bailey by a second deep moat and a high wall flanked by two round towers.
After they crossed another bridge, Richard pointed out the well in a corner of the middle bailey, saying the chapel and stables would be located here, too. The inner bailey was to be encircled by still another moat, but its most impressive defense would be the thick, corrugated walls, with round towers spaced every nine feet, making it impossible for enemy sappers to dig mines without exposing themselves to fire from above. Richard showed André where a square gatehouse would be situated, and they crossed another bridge into the inner bailey.
There André was astonished to see that work had already begun on the great keep, which was to have a rare cylindrical shape, with a beak like the prow of a ship, similar to the keep that Richard was building at Issoudun. He marveled that it was actually built right into the bailey wall, never having seen that before, and he was impressed, too, when Richard showed him another innovation: the long sloping plinth at the foot of the keep, which would allow rocks and weapons dropped from the battlements to ricochet off it, causing even greater injury to the attackers while deterring would-be sappers.
Nor was that all, Richard added proudly. There would be hoardings on the inner bailey walls, of course, those temporary wooden structures angled out from the top of castle ramparts to allow the defenders to drop rocks and hot liquids through openings in the floor. But the hoardings on Gaillard’s keep were to be different. He called them machicolations, saying they’d be permanent, made of stone to defy fire arrows, and when André—who’d never heard of such a thing—asked how their weight could be supported, Richard told him more about corbeled arches than he needed or wanted to know.
“A pity you were born a king’s son,” he joked, “for you’d have made a right fine master mason!”
Richard grinned. “That is what Master Sewale says, too,” he confided, naming the chief clerk in charge of the castle expenditures. “According to him, I am wasting money on a master mason since I am doing most of his work myself.”
“Well, you’re not only a master mason, Cousin, you’re a magician. How in the name of all that’s holy have you managed to get so much done so fast?”
“What is the most powerful inducement?”
“A knife at a man’s throat?”
“Money, André, money. When men are paid and paid very well for their labors, they are also highly motivated. Master Sewale claims that I’ll have spent over eleven thousand pounds on motivation when all is said and done.”
André stared at him openmouthed, for Richard had recently complained that since his coronation, he’d had to spend seven thousand pounds on the maintenance of his English castles—all of them. Richard had turned toward the scaffolding that encased a partially completed wall, and André reluctantly followed, thinking he was getting too old to be clambering about like a mountain goat. But the wall seemed to offer solid footing; the rubble packed between the ashlar faces was covered with straw, dung, and a canvas tarp. When he looked down, André discovered a spectacular view. Far below them lay the new walls of Petit Andely, a raised causeway over the lake connecting it with Grand Andely. Beyond it, the River Seine flowed majestically toward the Narrow Sea, moss green in the wan February sun. André tried to imagine that surging current challenged by a wooden stockade—tried and failed, although he did not doubt that Richard would see it done, even if he had to help hammer in the posts himself.
“Did I take your tongue away with that vast sum?” Richard asked, with another grin. “You know why I am willing to spend so much, do you not, André?”
André nodded. “Castles are built for defense. Not Gaillard, though. Oh, it will be of great value in protecting Rouen and the Norman border. But that is not why you are so smitten with this ‘fair daughter’ of yours. You intend to take the offensive against the French king, to use it as a base to reclaim the Vexin.”
Richard was still smiling, but his eyes had focused on the southern horizon, taking on a glitter that André had seen before—on the battlefield. “How much sleep do you think Philippe will get,” he said, “knowing that Castle Gaillard is a three-day ride from Paris?”