You stand on a bluff of rock high above the River Swale, and behind you rises a great square keep of pale stone, taller than any building for miles. Look up: those walls have watched this river since 1071. Somewhere beneath your feet, legend says, a king lies sleeping. And on a cell wall inside, the pencil marks of sixteen ordinary men still whisper their conscience across a century.
This is Richmond Castle, one of the oldest stone-built castles in all of England. It was begun in 1071 by Alan Rufus, a kinsman of William the Conqueror, at a time when nearly every other castle in the land was still a mound of earth and a palisade of timber.
Alan built in stone from the very start, planting Norman power hard on the edge of a rebellious north, a great fist of masonry set down to hold a conquered country. The very name Richmond comes from the French for "strong hill", and you can feel exactly why the Normans chose this rock above the Swale.
The town of Richmond grew up in the castle's shadow, and today it is often called England's finest Georgian market town, its cobbled square and honey-coloured houses spilling down the hill. But the fortress came first, and everything here still answers to it. Now, look for four things as you explore.
First, the keep itself, rising some thirty metres above the rock, its walls three metres thick in places, a solid Norman statement of strength that you can climb for a sweeping view over rooftops, river and dale. Second, Scolland's Hall, tucked into the curtain wall near the cliff edge.
Built in the eleventh century, it is among the very oldest surviving great halls in the country, a rare survival of how a Norman lord actually lived. Third, look outward and down, to where the Swale curves through its wooded gorge far below; the castle chose this spot precisely because the river guards two of its sides.
And fourth, keep your eyes open, safely, for the pencil drawings preserved inside one of the cell blocks, faint and fragile marks left by prisoners held here during the First World War. Those prisoners bring us to the castle's most moving story. During the First World War, Richmond held a group of conscientious objectors who have come to be known as the Richmond Sixteen.
They were men who, for reasons of faith or principle, refused to take up arms. They were imprisoned here in the castle's cells, and on the plaster walls they left drawings and inscriptions, in pencil, recording their names, their beliefs and their hopes. Those markings survive still, carefully protected now, a quiet and human record of ordinary people holding fast to conscience under enormous pressure.
Stand near them for a moment, and the centuries fold together. And then there is the older story, the one the town has told for generations. It is said that King Arthur and his knights lie sleeping in a hidden cavern deep beneath the castle, waiting for England's hour of need. A local potter named Thompson is supposed to have stumbled into the chamber once and found them there, with a sword and a horn laid ready.
He fled in terror before he could rouse them, and though he searched ever after, he could never find the way back in. So Arthur sleeps still, they say, somewhere beneath the stone on which you stand. From Richmond the Coast to Coast leaves the castle and follows the Swale gently downstream, and in barely a mile it brings you to the tranquil riverside ruins of Easby Abbey, next on your walk.
Take one last look up at that great keep against the sky, a thousand years of watching, and the marks of sixteen men who would not be moved. Walk safe.
