Nicola de la Haye is remembered, rightly, as the woman who held Lincoln Castle through a number of sieges. But while researching her life for Lady of the Castle, I became fascinated by another battle being fought on her lands.

It was a battle against the sea.

And, rather unexpectedly, I discovered that Nicola and Gerard’s attempts to win that battle may also have helped create an enemy who would eventually bring an army to the gates of Lincoln Castle—and come close to having Gerard hanged for treason.

A county being built out of water

Much of Nicola’s land lay in southern Lincolnshire, including estates at Sutton and Lutton in what was then a very different landscape from the one we know today.

Large parts of the Lincolnshire fens were still marsh, saltmarsh and seasonally flooded ground. If you wanted more farmland, you could not simply clear a few trees and start ploughing.

First, you had to make the land.

If you were a chicken in medieval England, the worst thing you could be was male

We tend to picture the medieval farmyard as gently pastoral: hens scratching contentedly around the cottage, a cockerel crowing at dawn. That picture isn't wrong, exactly, it's just missing most of the story. Because from the moment a male chick hatched, the farmyard had already decided he was a problem to be solved: too many mouths, too much aggression, not enough usefulness. What happened to him next ranged from a quick death to a surgeon's knife to, for a smaller number, a fighting pit.

This is the story of the medieval chicken — hens, capons and cocks alike — but it's the males whose fate deserves the closer look.

On 29 December 1170, four armed knights pushed through the freezing rain towards Canterbury Cathedral. Their leader was Reginald FitzUrse—a man whose very name meant “son of the bear.” He would live up to it in every sense: fierce, proud, and dangerously impulsive.

When Thomas Becket fell beneath their swords that night, FitzUrse’s roar echoed through the nave. It was he who first laid hands on the archbishop, striking the blow that turned a quarrel between king and church into one of the most shocking crimes of the Middle Ages.

A Knight of the King’s Household

Little is known of FitzUrse’s early life. He came from a respectable Somerset family, holding lands at Willeton and Barham. Like many younger sons of the gentry, he found advancement in royal service. By the 1160s he was one of Henry II’s household knights—trusted, well-paid, and fiercely loyal to the king who rewarded courage and obedience above all else.

That loyalty, however, would prove fatal.

Most people, when they think of Moses, imagine him standing alone before Pharaoh or parting the Red Sea. Yet at his side was a woman—a wife, a foreigner, and a figure of quiet defiance: Zipporah, daughter of Jethro of Midian.

Who Was Zipporah?

Zipporah appears only briefly in the Book of Exodus, but her presence is unforgettable. She was one of seven daughters of a Midianite priest. When Moses fled Egypt after killing an overseer, he found refuge in Midian— and at a well, defended Jethro’s daughters from abusive shepherds. In gratitude, Jethro offered him hospitality and the hand of his daughter, Zipporah.

That is the story’s surface, but beneath it lies something far more intriguing: a woman who stepped outside her cultural boundaries to follow a fugitive foreigner; who raised children between two worlds; who faced the weight of Moses’s divine calling and still kept her own courage.