Power and piety

Ralph Cromwell, in keeping with most of his contemporaries and peers, was eager to give the appearance of being a good Christian. In his assessment of manorial chapels, Kent Rawlinson pointed out the all-pervading presence of religious routines within the late medieval household, which influenced Christian themes in secular architecture.^{Footnote 74} Whether this devotion was profound is difficult to establish as individuals conveyed their religious convictions in different ways. Henry v was able to harness his piety for nationalistic secular purposes in a highly successful manner.^{Footnote 75} This contrasts utterly to his son’s withdrawn and obsessive godliness that ultimately contributed to the breakdown of society.^{Footnote 76} Creighton pointed out that, alongside the genuinely pious, medieval aristocrats patronised ecclesiastical sites as markers of social status and expressions of wealth.^{Footnote 77} Johnson took this a step further when he queried whether we could ever fully comprehend the motives of the dead.^{Footnote 78} Both are entirely right to advise caution. We will never fully understand Cromwell’s impulses; however, we can begin to assess what messages he wanted to project about himself and his place in society. In doing so there is a point in which the cracks begin to show and the mask slips so that we may be able to get a glimpse, admittedly refracted and clouded, of his personal characteristics.

There is nothing in Cromwell’s life that points towards a deep personal piety. He was friends with several bishops, including Beaufort, Waynflete and Boulers, but they were also powerful statesmen.^{Footnote 79} He did not patronise monasteries and there is no record of him going on pilgrimage. The presence of the chapel in the Inner Ward at Tattershall (fig 2) points only toward the provision for the necessary observation of ritual.^{Footnote 80} Furthermore, the foundation of the adjacent collegiate church (fig 5) must be seen as part of a pattern of similar magnificent foundations by his contemporaries at Windsor, Warkworth and Fotheringhay.^{Footnote 81} Although Cromwell did engage with rebuilding work on parish churches – at Ranby, South Wingfield and, posthumously, at Lambley (fig 6)^{Footnote 82} – his religion seemed to be very formulaic and geared towards the needs of demonstrating his own status.

A key shift in recent castle studies has been a focus on the social structuring of space and the importance of symbolic elements in medieval elite landscapes. These ideas, developed by scholars such as Creighton,Footnote ⁸³ JohnsonFootnote ⁸⁴ and Liddiard,Footnote ⁸⁵ are now a well-established line of enquiry. A particular theme has been the spatial links between secular and ecclesiastical power;^{Footnote 86} visibly expressed in the close proximity of the castle and collegiate church at Tattershall (fig 5). However, unlike Warkworth or Kenilworth where colleges were enclosed within the castle walls, the castle and college precincts were separate entities.

The methods of accessing the castle may have brought to mind medieval religious processions.^{Footnote 87} This involved crossing a series of moats, initially commanded by the outer gatehouse (which is directly overlooked by the north elevation of the great tower), before turning east towards the middle gatehouse and lastly south-west through the inner gatehouse (fig 2). This circuitous route can be paralleled in other late medieval castles such as Caister,^{Footnote 88} Bodiam^{Footnote 89} and Kenilworth.^{Footnote 90} Johnson posits that a water-filled moat ‘simultaneously displays the castle but denies access to lower social orders unable to gain admission to the castle’.^{Footnote 91} In this we can see a dual purpose of ritualised and theatrical procession juxtaposed with socially-defined access. The processional motif continued within Tattershall’s Inner Ward as the visitor passed through the great hall to an adjacent corridor and then selected one of the doors into the great tower (fig 7). These portals acted as sophisticated social spatial markers. Non-elites might be able to enter the centre door to the basement to retrieve stores or bring food from the kitchens via an upper doorway from a mural passage in the south-east turret. Lesser members of the household were catered for by entering the northern door into the ground floor hall. Visitors to Cromwell’s quarters above could take the southern ground floor door to the stair in the south-east turret (fig 8). Perhaps higher status guests or family members may have climbed the newel stair at the high end of the great hall and entered the south-east turret from a passage above the external corridor. This probably also linked the chambers at the high end of the great hall to the great tower via the lower door in the south-east turret. Each of the storeys above grew steadily larger and more lavish in a fashion memorably described by John Goodall as ‘gathering magnificence’.^{Footnote 92} In particular, the access corridor off the main stair to the second floor great chamber creates a piece of theatre as the vault is studded with armorials relating to Cromwell’s family and the impression is much more elaborate than anything encountered on the lower floors (fig 9). The sensation of procession is heightened by having to walk the length of the corridor before entering an antechamber prior to accessing the great chamber with its high end at the opposite end (fig 10).Footnote ⁹³ Such circuitous access may be related to the lordly choreography found at much older sites (see below) such as Norwich Castle and Hedingham Castle in the twelfth century^{Footnote 94} or in the thirteenth century at Wells Bishop’s Palace.^{Footnote 95} Whilst these ritualised peregrinations may have conceptually brought to mind liturgical processions, they also acted as statements of prestige and status due to the sheer accomplishment and expense of engineering and architectural organisation.

Fig 7. East elevation of the great tower. Photograph: the author.

Fig 8. Stair in the south-east turret. Photograph: the author.

Fig 9. Second floor corridor leading to Cromwell’s great chamber. Photograph: the author.

Fig 10. Cromwell’s great chamber, note the fireplace and corbels for supporting a tester at the high end. Photograph: the author.

At the summit of the great tower is an arcaded double-height parapet that links the stair turret to the remaining three turrets (fig 11). The lower walkway covered a route between what may have been heated banqueting suites with impressive stone door surrounds. From this comfortable vantage Cromwell’s most favoured guests could have admired the wide views, beyond the castle gates, across his landscape of lordship. This would have been an impressively mature conjunction of architectural and landscape design, which has been noted as a marker of elite aesthetics.Footnote ⁹⁶ Whilst courtyard pentices were common features in medieval architecture, they were usually ground floor, timber-framed, lean-to structures that facilitated access between ranges of the house.Footnote ⁹⁷ At Tattershall, the idea of an elite promenade space is altogether more high status. Although the intention was to provide external views, rather than quiet contemplation or access between ranges, the overall architectural impression brings to mind monastic cloisters transposed to the top of a tower. This may have been a deliberate intention to once again intermingle sacred and secular themes.

Fig 11. Arcaded double-height parapet of the great tower. Photograph: the author.

Such a combination is also apparent in the diaperwork of the south-west turret of the great tower, which has a double-V design picked out in brickwork immediately above an M (fig 12); the latter is also repeated on the west elevation show-front. The notion that the letters could potentially represent individuals is considered unlikely as the use of personal initials in diaper was never common in this period, with a single outlier at Kirby Muxloe from the 1480s.^{Footnote 98} Instead, both motifs were used frequently in ecclesiastical architecture to convey devotion for the Virgin Mary. Fifteenth-century flint flushwork examples of the crowned M (corona virginum) can be found at Blythburgh in Suffolk, Fincham, Norfolk, and the bishop’s palace at Norwich.^{Footnote 99} A sixteenth-century diaperwork instance of this tradition is located at Sustead, Norfolk.^{Footnote 100} Meanwhile, the use of the double-V motif may also relate to the Virgo Virginum (Virgin of Virgins)^{Footnote 101} and can be found in fifteenth-century blind tracery at Christchurch Priory and on a bench end at Buckland Newton, Dorset.^{Footnote 102} Both the corona virginum and virgo virginum appear prominently together in the masonry of the west elevation of the parish church at Fakenham, Norfolk.Footnote ¹⁰³ If these symbols have Marian connections then we might surmise that Cromwell was making a connection between temporal and religious power that is rarely found in diaperwork. This connection is further developed by a diaperwork lordly armorial shield placed directly above the west front Marian symbol (fig 13).

Fig 12. M and double-V designs picked out in the diaperwork of the south-west turret. Photograph: the author.

Fig 13. Diaperwork armorial on the west elevation of the great tower. Photograph: the author.

Such mixed themes can also be traced in the design and style of the four carved chimneypieces (fig 14), which bear strong resemblances to late medieval tombs, Easter sepulchres and doorways.^{Footnote 104} The consistent use of foliate carvings, especially on the cornices and lintels, may have been warnings against evil, as outlined by the influential teachings of Ambrose, Augustine of Hippo and Bede who made analogies between sin and the leaves used to cover the nakedness of Adam and Eve following their corruption by the serpent.^{Footnote 105} The juxtaposition of foliate carvings with apotropaic grotesques (fig 15) may hint at further association with evil, as hearths were routinely seen as portals vulnerable to access by malevolent spirits.^{Footnote 106} The specific link between carved analogies of sin and the alien ‘otherness’ of woodland in medieval thinking is also demonstrated by the repeated carvings of wild men (fig 16) – symbolic of outcasts living beyond the realms of civilisation, whose base nature it was the duty of virtuous men to reject.^{Footnote 107} The spandrels of the first floor chimneypiece also play on notions of good and evil via a carving of a hare eating a plant (fig 17) – bestiaries of the period link hares to the concept of Christian meekness^{Footnote 108} – and a centaur fighting a dragon. All of the above motifs may be seen in the context of liturgical marginalia^{Footnote 109} as they have a liminal quality, relegated to the cornice, lintel, capitals, spandrels or supporting elements of the main panels without ever being the principle focus of the frieze. However, the frieze of the first floor fireplace (fig 18) is reserved for more overt biblical references to righteous battle, embodied by two panels featuring St Michael and the Dragon and a possible representation of Samson and the lion (fig 19). Alternatively, the latter may be a carving of Hugh de Neville fighting a lion whilst on crusade.^{Footnote 110} If so, this may be a play on Margaret Deincourt’s connections to the family as well as Cromwell’s alliance with them. It is plausible that a combination of these messages was apparent – once again linking secular and sacred themes.

Fig 14. (a) Chimneypieces of the ground floor lesser hall; (b) first floor dining hall; (c) second floor great chamber; (d) third floor bedchamber. Photographs: the author.

Fig 15. Carved grotesque and foliage on the cornice of the first floor chimneypiece. Photograph: the author.

Fig 16. Sculpture of a wild man on the frieze of the first floor chimneypiece. Photograph: the author.

Fig 17. Carving of a hare eating foliage on the spandrel of the first floor chimneypiece. Photograph: the author.

Fig 18. Interpretive photograph of the first floor chimneypiece. Photograph: the author.

Fig 19. Possible carving of Samson fighting a lion. Photograph: the author.

Family status

The choice to dramatically remodel a pre-existing castle that had been his ancestor’s centre of regional dominance linked Cromwell to a continuum of power that reinforced and emphasised his right to such authority – an attractive notion for a newly made man. In a building steeped in symbols of lordship, the presence of crenellations on the great tower was a common expression of status.^{Footnote 111} However, Cromwell’s architecture makes this point over and again. Miniature crenellations can be found on the cornices of all four fireplaces (figs 14, 15 and 18) and, in a re-sited context, on the wall-plate of the Middle Ward lodgings. At Wingfield Manor the crenellations of the great hall porch have a panel carving of the Cromwell arms quartered with de Tateshale. Meanwhile, toy battlements feature in the principle rafters, window tracery and pedestal of the pulpit at Tattershall collegiate church. The latter all post-date Cromwell’s death, but as William Waynflete acted as executor and project manager, he may have been sensitive to the tastes of the deceased.

Crenellations are more usually found capping wall-tops and towers. Tattershall was not in shortage of the latter. Aside from the all-pervading great tower, the five gatehouses not only facilitated an ease of movement around the site but also made deliberately symbolic statements of power.^{Footnote 112} Cromwell may have taken his cue from the castle’s numerous pre-existing thirteenth-century towers, but he transformed the site into something far more spectacular. The western prospect (fig 20) would have appeared as a near-constant cluster of five towers lining the Inner Ward: the brick great tower, flanked by two earlier stone towers, followed by a short section of wall before a gate tower and a tower to the south (fig 2). Behind this show-frontage, the tops of other towers in the wards may have been visible and, eventually, the church tower further to the east (fig 5).

Fig 20. West elevation of the great tower. Photograph: the author.

The execution of the building in brick struck a particularly innovative note. The material was a relatively new introduction to England inspired by a widespread use across a region spanning the Baltic states, Germany, the Low Countries and northern France. By the later fourteenth century, spurred on by political, military and trading links with organisations such as the Teutonic Knights and Hanseatic League, it had begun to take hold at elite buildings in eastern counties such as Lincolnshire, which saw prominent works at Thornton Abbey gatehouse (1380s) and St Mary’s Guildhall at Boston (1390s). Dutch and French influences were often apparent at this time as the majority of early brick makers came from these regions.Footnote ¹¹³ Cromwell was no different in these matters, as he employed a European specialist named Baldwin Docheman (Dutchman) to manufacture bricks for Tattershall.Footnote ¹¹⁴

The longevity of his family may have been prominent in Cromwell’s mind as, even in such an innovative castle, he seemed preoccupied with antiquated architectural features. The great tower looked for inspiration simultaneously to both contemporary builds and backwards to Norman examples, with an apparent awareness of the historic importance of ancient structures.^{Footnote 115} The use of antique forms of Y-tracery in the east elevation of the great tower and in the two surviving lodging ranges points towards such a taste (fig 21). Further evidence for this aesthetic can be gleaned from the use of retrogressive capitals, doorways and tracery at South Wingfield.^{Footnote 116} Hart noted that in the fifteenth century older forms of tracery were reintroduced widely,^{Footnote 117} whilst Harvey and Emery point towards a preference for deliberately anachronistic designs by those in the orbit of the royal court.^{Footnote 118} Goodall suggests that it was the royal masons, in particular those working at Eton, who encouraged the spread of the style.^{Footnote 119} However, it is worth noting that work, including retrospective forms at both Tattershall and the castle of Cromwell’s great friend, John Fastolf, at Caister, commenced almost a full decade before the king’s construction at Eton began. Wherever the style originated, it soon became associated with the court and may have been seen as a subtle acknowledgement of the Lancastrian regime as the source of wealth and power, whilst also using older forms of design to re-emphasise the statement that family and castle were of ancient pedigree.

Fig 21. Window tracery of the Middle Ward lodgings. Photograph: the author.

Cromwell obsessed on matters relating to his ancestry, and the fireplaces (figs 14 and 18) and brick vaults (fig 22) at Tattershall were used liberally as vehicles for armorials. Naturally, we find Cromwell and Deincourt, but also present are their extended families – Marmion, Clifton and Grey of Rotherfield. Demonstrating links to family and close political allies was a perfectly normal late medieval sculptural motif, as can be seen from the gatehouses at Hylton^{Footnote 120} and Bodiam.^{Footnote 121} However, Cromwell did not try and associate himself with anyone except family – and many of those present, such as the de Tateshales, Bernacks and Dribys, were no longer influential names, and detailed analysis reveals even more obscure armorials. The Vipont family were very distantly related to Cromwell through the brother of his three-times great grandfather, who married Idonea de Layburne, the daughter of Robert de Vipont, Lord of Westmoreland. Equally remote is the presence of the d’Albini arms, which came via Mabel d’Albini, wife of Robert de Tateshale, Cromwell’s five-times great grandmother (fig 18). Although the lost gatehouses of the castle may have featured more contemporary armorials, it is still very significant that nowhere in the richly carved interior of the great tower do we see members of Cromwell’s political circle – not even his long-term patron, Henry Beaufort. Perhaps, in the politically tumultuous days of the mid-fifteenth century, it may have been safer for an astute politician to look backwards rather than broadcast potentially fragile contemporary allegiances in stone, given the rapidly shifting sands of the council. This fixation with the dimmer reaches of family history could also be seen as evidence of a man conscious that his position in society had been reached rapidly and that the Cromwell branch of his ancestry was not particularly ancient and august. The desire to project the antiquity of his grandmother’s family – and especially those branches with particularly proud and powerful members such as the d’Albinis and Viponts – may have served to bolster the uncertainty and tension of a social arrivisté trying to establish his credentials amongst more powerful men.

Fig 22. Armorials in the brick vaulting of the third floor lobby between the stair and bedchamber. Photograph: the author.

Symbols of prestige

If Cromwell was coy in expressing his political affinities, he was certainly not shy about the ultimate source of his wealth and prestige – his decade-long appointment as Lord Treasurer. Carvings of the Treasurer’s purse (fig 23) appear thirty-five times on the Tattershall chimneypieces alone. Beyond that, it can also be seen in the window glass of the collegiate church, above the inner gatehouse at Wingfield Manor and on the east end of Holy Trinity Lambley. Antiquarians, such as Leland and Cox, noted that the purse was present in several locations, including the chapel at Colleyweston^{Footnote 122} and in the great hall at Wingfield Manor.^{Footnote 123} Even moveable objects were resplendent with the device – a carriage looted by Exeter from Ampthill bore the motif.^{Footnote 124} This repeated signal displays an enormous pride in both the office of Lord Treasurer and the vast incomes that came about as a result of the exulted position.

Fig 23. Carving of the Treasurer’s purse, Gromwell weed and motto – Nay je droit – on the frieze of the ground floor chimneypiece. Photograph: the author.

That Cromwell was still using the image of the purse after he stepped down as Treasurer in 1443 is apparent from the inner gatehouse at Wingfield Manor, which was begun in that year,^{Footnote 125} and probably in the upper floors at Tattershall.^{Footnote 126} Again, this speaks of a pride in his past accomplishments – he was a very capable officer at a time when the lifespan of the post tended to be relatively short. He was certainly not alone in using the position of Lord Treasurer to build magnificent great houses. This can be seen in the substantial residences of Walter Hungerford at Farleigh Hungerford, John Boteler at Sudeley, Roger Fiennes at Herstmonceux and James Fiennes at Knole. However, none of these men used carved motifs to obsess on matters of family or office. Neither did they rely on an overbearing great tower, emphasised by its setting in a flat fenland landscape with vast hinterland visuals, as a motif of lordship. Only Cromwell commissioned multiple houses simultaneously whose splendour far outstripped those of his peers: a remarkable achievement at a time when ‘conspicuous expenditure was considered a virtue’.^{Footnote 127} Possibly this also created a moral tension expressed through the presence of eleven foliate carvings (representative of sin) interspersed with five Treasurer’s purses on the third floor chimneypiece cornice – perhaps a show of guilt for the sin of greed.

Despite the overt statements of prestige, there is an underlying anxiety inherent in Cromwell’s architecture. This is perhaps best explained through an examination of his personal motto – another repeated signal found, particularly, in association with the Treasurer’s purse on the ground and first floor chimneypieces (fig 23). The phrasing of the motto is rather extraordinarily confrontational: ‘Nay je droit’ (Have I not the right?). The emerging fashion for personal mottoes began to gain traction throughout the fifteenth century, with Cromwell’s contemporaries favouring references to commemoration, religion, war cries, riddles or a rebus.^{Footnote 128} Henry iv used the rather elegiac ‘souveyne vous de moi’ (Remember me), which possibly related to a deceased family member, as well as the more straightforward statement of monarchy: ‘Soverayne’ (Sovereign).^{Footnote 129} Henry v adopted ‘Dieu et mon droit’ (God and my right) to emphasise his claims to the French throne.^{Footnote 130} Henry Percy favoured the pious phrase ‘Espérance en Dieu’ (Hope in God).^{Footnote 131} Gloucester made a rather gushing declaration of his love for Eleanor Cobham with ‘Loyale et belle’ (Loyal and beautiful).^{Footnote 132} Somerset opted for militaristic belligerence: ‘Altera securitas’ (Additional security).^{Footnote 133} Fastolf used the confessional ‘Me fault faire’ (I do sin).^{Footnote 134} The Cromwell motto appears to be highly aspirational and is often found in conjunction with the Treasurer’s purse and a rebus of the Gromwell plant (fig 23). The implication of this combination seems unequivocal – Cromwell was demanding due respect for his place in society and the ultimatum ‘Have I not the right?’ could be interpreted as a very truculent challenge. However, the question itself appears so incongruous – why does he even need to ask it? There is a tension and anxiety here representative of a man who senses that his peers may genuinely have been asking that very same question. The motto seems at odds with the confidence, romance or piety of his contemporaries. If anything, it brings to mind the one acquired the following century by William Shakespeare, son of a glove-maker: ‘Non sainz droict’ (Not without right) – a self-professed statement of gentility that the family were perhaps not truly entitled to.^{Footnote 135} The difference is that where Shakespeare over-emphasised his (questionable) right, Cromwell offers an argumentative query that comes across as a blatant challenge to dare to contest him.

The abrasive motto demonstrates a characteristic witnessed in various episodes of Cromwell’s life. He was absolutely tenacious in establishing his credentials whenever he felt a challenge to his station: the bold attempts to retain his position on the council, the harsh treatment of Elizabeth Swillington, the political manoeuvring against Suffolk and the turbulent conflict with Exeter. Rather than drawing his sword, as the hot-headed Tailboys and Exeter did, Cromwell opted for more reliable legal remedies.^{Footnote 136} Emery elaborated on this when he said that Cromwell was ‘touchy on matters affecting his honour or his rights, frequently pointing out that as he always followed the correct procedures, he must necessarily be in the right’.^{Footnote 137} His obstinacy to survive the ravages of both his juniors and seniors, under all political circumstances, points towards a very strong will that is aptly characterised by the motto.