The Siege of Château Gaillard: History and Fiction Intertwined

When writing The Siege of Château Gaillard, I set out to craft a novel that was not only historically grounded, but spiritually and psychologically faithful to the world that produced such a fortress—and such a collapse. Readers often ask how much of the novel is “true.” The answer depends on what we mean by truth.

If by truth we mean what happened, when, and to whom, then yes—many details in the novel are accurate to the siege of 1203–1204. But if we mean what was felt, feared, remembered, and endured, then I’ve aimed at something deeper than strict chronicle. In this post, I’ll walk through where the novel aligns with the historical record, where it diverges, and why.

The Siege: Historical Overview

Château Gaillard was one of the most advanced fortresses in medieval Europe. Built by Richard the Lionheart in a rush of strategic genius, it commanded the Seine River valley and was meant to shield Normandy from French invasion. By 1203, after Richard’s death, King John had lost the loyalty of most Norman barons. Philip II of France seized the opportunity and laid siege to the fortress in October.

The siege unfolded in phases:

• Initial containment and river blockades
• The capture of the outer bailey by mining and battering
• A surprise French entry through the chapel’s latrine chute
• Final surrender in March 1204

Contemporary sources such as Roger of Wendover, Ralph of Coggeshall, and William the Breton offer various accounts, each with biases and gaps. What they agree on is this: the siege was brutal, the defenses innovative, and its fall marked the collapse of English power in Normandy.

What I Preserved in the Novel

1. Roger de Lacy’s Command

Historically, Roger de Lacy—Constable of Chester—was appointed by King John to defend Château Gaillard. While the records are sparse, de Lacy was known for prior campaigns and was likely chosen for his loyalty and competence. In the novel, I preserved this role but expanded him into a deeply burdened character: not simply a commander, but a man of memory, duty, and spiritual exhaustion.

2. The “Useless Mouths” and Human Cost

One of the most horrifying realities of the siege was the expulsion of noncombatants—women, children, the elderly—by the garrison in hopes of conserving food. The French refused to take them. Trapped in the cold between enemy lines, many starved or froze to death. This detail is not only preserved in the novel but placed at the heart of the story’s moral and spiritual weight.

3. The Final French Infiltration

The use of a latrine chute or sewage shaft to penetrate the inner ward is well-attested. In my novel, this moment becomes both a turning point and a symbol: the fortress is not undone by frontal assault but by an unnoticed, defiled passage—an image that resonates with the novel’s themes of spiritual rot and unseen betrayal.

4. Siege engine Technology and Tactics

From mining under walls to mantlets and trebuchets, all major siege methods described in the book are historically plausible and drawn from 12th–13th century warfare. The logistical challenges of sustaining a garrison—food, disease, firewood—are not romanticized.

Where I Departed from the Record

1. Characters and Dialogue

The core figures—Roger de Lacy, Father Luc, Eleanor, Thibault, Sir Alwin, Garnier—are fictional. Their speech, afflictions, and moral dilemmas are invented but reflect the psychological conditions likely under prolonged siege. While no diary or letter from Gaillard survives, these characters allow us to imagine what might have passed through the minds of real people trapped in that frozen hell.

2. Spiritual Symbolism and Sacramentality

The novel introduces themes of divine absence, bodily suffering, and sacramental ruin—layers not present in medieval chronicles but present in the medieval imagination. Snow, blood, spoiled wine, bread crusts, and silence become vehicles for grace or despair. This is not documentary fiction—it is incarnational fiction. It seeks not just what happened, but what it meant.

3. Time Compression and Weather

Some sequences are condensed or rearranged slightly for narrative cohesion. Historical weather records are sparse, but the winter of 1203–1204 was likely harsh. I took license to heighten this: frostbite, mud, infection, and psychological collapse are emphasized to reflect the real brutality of winter sieges.

Why Accuracy Wasn’t Enough

In writing The Siege of Château Gaillard, I wanted a novel that respected the facts but didn’t worship them. History gave me bones—the siege, the tower collapse, the starvation. But fiction animates the body. The suffering must be seen. The silence must be heard. The human will must tremble before the divine one.

So when readers ask “how real was it?” I say: as real as the frostbite, the rot, the prayer mumbled through cracked lips. As real as memory, shame, and hope. The facts are there. But the truth is in the flesh.