The King's Dogge

by Nigel Green

  At dawn, I went down to the western side. Despite the hour, the place was a hive of activity with archers recovering whatever arrows they could find and looting the Scottish dead.

  ‘158, my lord.’

  I recognised the archer who had joked about the Scots the previous day.

  ‘What about their wounded?’ I asked.

  He looked at me in surprise.

  ‘There aren’t any now,’ he said patiently. ‘But you’ll find that figure of their dead to be correct; Captain Fennell went to look at the bodies himself.’

  That puzzled me, but I did not ask him about it when later I congratulated him on his men’s shooting.

  ‘Easy pickings, my lord. We couldn’t miss at that range. I don’t know how many of their wounded managed to ride away,’ he added thoughtfully.

  ‘How many arrows have your men got left?’

  ‘Probably thirty or so a man. We’ll see off the next attack and then Middleton will be back.’

  He roared with laughter and put his great paw of a hand on my shoulder.

  ‘Did you hear what Edward Franke said, my lord?’ His shoulders heaved. ‘He said that Master Middleton will be angry to find we have destroyed half the Scots when he gets back.’

  A few men smiled openly at the sight of their giant captain laughing happily with Lord Lovell safe in the knowledge that their clever plan was working out as they had hoped. Soon Middleton would return and they had already killed a large number of Scots without losing a single man. I bit my tongue and suggested that we use the Scottish spears to line the bottom of the trench – Edward Franke could take care of that. With any luck it would take him all day.

  ‘Another good idea, my lord,’John Fennell chuckled. ‘Mind you, we’ll have to pray for moonlight tonight; we won’t be able to build more fires. You’ll find that those Scots will lurk around here just out of arrow shot. Maybe we won’t even see them, but they’ll be there. If you sent a man out of camp today to rebuild those fires, he would be ridden down and spitted before he knew what had happened.’

  I had guessed this would be the case, but it was interesting, and curious, that Fennell had come up with the same thought.

  ‘Then tonight we are reliant on the moon and the stars, so there’s a greater chance that the Scots will throw everything they have at us,’ I said to him. ‘Even that little band of thirty or so have moved off the hill opposite us.’

  For some reason his head jerked up. For a moment his eyes blazed excitedly.

  ‘In the darkness, I think they might be able to outflank you, so I’ll give you some of the men-at-arms to strengthen you and, if it’s desperate, I’ll bring the rest down to join you.’

  He nodded, but I sensed his mind was elsewhere; he toyed with his little dagger in his hand. I moved away from the happy chatter of the archers. Morale in camp was undoubtedly high, and the men clearly relished the prospect of taking on the Scots again, but what would happen when Middleton failed to return? I could stall it for a day or so. If he were bringing supplies, Middleton would have come slower, but how long could I keep up the pretence? Morale would plummet, the Scots would gather more provisions, and with reinforcements, they would attack for the final time. The sharp swords of the archers would be no match for the longer spears of the Scots.

  There was no way out. I had thought of trying to get the men down the hill to the captured horses, but we would have been ridden down shortly after we left camp. Even if we got to the palfreys, we would be outridden by the Scots and outreached by their spears. On balance, it was better to die on this hill. At least some of the men would die without knowing that Middleton was never going to come back for them. With any luck, most of them would die without knowing that it was I who had caused their deaths.

  One of the men-at-arms shook me awake. I looked up blearily. The Scots must be massing at the western end. As I made the final adjustments to my half armour9, I peered down the camp. The full moon and stars provided some light, but clouds obscured large areas of the ground.

  In the distance, I could hear the rumble of the Scottish horsemen massing beyond the burnt-out fires, but the barricade and archers were a black shadow. Then the hubbub turned into a rhythmical thudding sound and I heard the whooping of the Scots as they launched their charge. The cloud moved over and I could see no more.

  The yelling of the Scots was much closer now, so I put my helmet on but kept the visor up and signalled to the men-at-arms to close up on me. I guessed that the Scots must have made it over the trench and were probably now at the barricade. Some Scots seemed to be crawling over the barricade, or were they but shadows? What was certain, and far more worrying, was that some of their horsemen had definitely outflanked the barrier and were riding into camp behind the archers. The men-at-arms vigorously contested their passage.

  I glanced at my fifteen or so men; they were needed there, not here. There was no point in waiting, so I raised my hand. The screams were audible behind me despite my helmet. I turned horrified; the Scots were flooding over the eastern side of the camp. They were all on foot – clearly they had climbed the steep slope in the darkness – and were running towards us. I cursed and slammed my visor down. All was suddenly quiet. Forget the western side, I thought. Forget that you have been surprised; defend Fennell’s back. I waved the men forward and lumbered ahead clutching my hammer. All I could hear were the nasal tones of Sergeant Jervis.

  ‘Left foot forward, left hand to the base, right hand higher and swing, right foot forward and recover. Now, left foot forward, left hand to the base… Ignore anyone that is not in front of you… Left foot forward, left hand to the base… Tired? You’re not tired! You’re only just starting! … Left foot forward, left hand to the base, right hand further up and swing… Don’t stop you fool, a stationary man is an easy target! … Left foot forward…’

  He was a hard man, Jervis, but a good teacher, as he made you forget the sweat, tiredness and the immense jolts that ran down your arms. You learnt to ignore the blows that struck you. He taught you just to keep moving inexorably forward, until the pressure opposing you began to slacken, as it was doing now.

  I risked a quick sidelong glance. Some of the men were still with me, but the Scots were shrinking back. I raised my visor to look out properly, gasping for breath, and saw that the Scots were fleeing back over the brow of the hill.

  The cloud cover had moved away completely now and it was easy to see the bodies on the ground. I estimated that I had lost perhaps half my men, but there seemed to be a lot of dead Scots. The remaining men-at-arms were using the ends of their poleaxes to finish off the wounded enemy. Clearly, despite being outnumbered, our men’s armour and weapons had proved far superior to the short Scottish swords and their thin jacks. Indeed, there had only been one opponent I faced who had proved a problem, as he had used a large double-bladed axe.

  The surviving Scots had fled now – but no, over there were three more. The one in the centre appeared wounded and was holding the shoulder of the man on his right. The one on his left had been wounded in the leg and was staggering. I signalled my men to spread out and we moved slowly towards the trio. We would finish this, I thought; then we would go down to the western side to help there. Then I gazed in amazement for two of the three men suddenly collapsed with arrows sticking into them. Unable to support himself, the little man in the centre slowly slid to the ground. I removed my helmet; if there were archers here, the western side must be secure.

  ‘You’ve been busy here, my lord,’ Captain Fennell greeted me and strode over to examine the little man.

  ‘And you?’

  ‘Probably lost thirty men, but they were badly hit, the Scots. The ones who got inside the camp will have been dispatched by now.’

  ‘You mean, you left your men fighting to come up here?’ I said horrified. ‘Why did you leave the major battle to come and help in a skirmish?’

  His actions were unbelievable.

  ‘It’s all quiet there now and this was the
major battle for me anyway. I came as soon as I heard Edward Franke say we were being attacked at the rear. As a matter of fact, I’ve been hoping we would be.’

  His speech was quick and confident now and I noticed a new authority about John Fennell, as he ordered the men-at-arms and archers back to the western side of the camp.

  ‘They won’t attack again, my lord, and they won’t come up here anyway.’

  He moved a few feet away from the sprawled form on the ground.

  ‘Fair devil you are with that war hammer, my lord. I watched you batter your way through them, as easy as anything.’

  ‘You watched? You could have…’

  ‘Do the men good to see you in battle,’ he said admiringly. ‘Mind you, I’m glad you didn’t kill him,’ he gestured at the ground. We had to stop the man who wounded him.’

  This made no sense at all.

  ‘Why?’

  He smiled genially at me.

  ‘Men think that I am simple-minded, my lord, but of late I think I’ve been rather clever. Shall I tell you why?’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘I’ve had you fooled, my lord, haven’t I? There’s me applauding your clever plan, when all the time I knew the situation was a total disaster. There I was telling everyone that Master Middleton had broken through the Scots, when a child could have worked out that he’d been defeated quickly. And there was me telling everyone that nonsensical story about the decoy Master Middleton made, when he surrendered his palfreys.’ His shoulders shook gently. ‘You were there, my lord, when he told me off – proper angry he was. You could tell that he loved horses; my brother told me that before. He would not have surrendered those horses to the Scots – the Scots captured them when they defeated him. I expect you’re wondering why I went along with all of that nonsense?’

  He paused and then went over to prod the wounded man on the ground. There was a rattling groan. Fennell came back and grinned at me.

  ‘Still alive – that’s good. Now, my lord, can you recall the names of the widows you provided for after the news of Anderson’s patrol became known?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘It doesn’t matter. It was kind of you to think of them anyway, but among them was one Alice Fennell. She was married to my brother Christopher and you gave her more support because you took time to find out that she had four very young children.’

  ‘Your brother was with Anderson?’ I asked stupidly.

  Clouds had covered the moon and I could not see his face.

  ‘He was my twin. Mind you, no one would have guessed; he was much smaller than me, but we were close, very close.’ He fell silent for a moment. ‘You know how it is with twins, my lord; you’re closer than brothers, sometimes even closer than with wives. We’d been together all our lives as boys, then as men.’

  He drew out the little dagger and played with it, a sudden shaft of moonlight illuminating the blade.

  ‘He was one of the five men who were taken with Anderson,’ he said softly. ‘When I heard how he died, at first I wished I was dead. Then I realised that I had to help Alice and her children, but you’d provided for them so generously that there was no need.’

  The clouds had broken up completely now and I saw that he was gently stroking his brother’s dagger.

  ‘So I only had one thing to do, my lord. I swore that I’d find my brother’s murderer and that he would die a slow, painful death.’

  He glanced down at the collapsed form.

  ‘You know who that is now, don’t you?’

  ‘Skiam?’

  ‘The very same. After you and Master Middleton devastated the Debateable Land, everyone thought that he’d have to go to Scotland. I was wondering if I could try to find him myself, but I couldn’t by myself in Scotland. Then I heard you were planning a raid and I thought the only way that Skiam could win himself a bit of trust with the Scots was if he attacked you. That’s why I pleaded for you to take me with you, my lord. I hoped that there might be a chance. Then, when I heard about how the supply packhorses were attacked, I thought he might be close. Finally, I thought hard. The only way I could come close to him was if he and his men joined in the Scottish attack. That’s why I went along with you, my lord, after Middleton was defeated. We had to keep the morale strong enough to ensure that the men did not desert or try to surrender to the Scots, which they would have done if they had known that no one was going to come back for them. We had to be strong enough to resist the Scots and Skiam.’

  ‘But how did you know that he was here?’

  ‘I saw them on the hill opposite us when you were explaining to me how Middleton used the palfreys as decoys,’ he smiled at me. ‘I was wondering about that little group. They didn’t have spears like the Scots and then I remembered Anderson’s description of how he was captured by a big man with a double-bladed axe and I saw such a man in that group. I was frightened that we might have killed him with those other Scots last night. That’s why I went to look at the bodies, but he wasn’t among their dead. Then when I heard Edward Franke shouting that you were being attacked on the east side, I knew that it had to be Skiam and his men trying to take us in the back. The Scots were almost beaten by them, so I brought up a few men and then I saw him. It was obvious he was their leader as he was urging them on with his little axe. That’s why I went to look at him afterwards. I just had to see if his face fitted Anderson’s description. It was just as I had heard, down to the piece missing from his ear.’

  There was an air of total satisfaction in his manner. He had done what he had set out to do and fooled me completely in the process. At least, it would be easier now that I knew he was aware of the fate of Middleton and the others. I got up slowly.

  ‘We’ll need to think about what we should do tomorrow and then the next day when Middleton doesn’t return.’

  He nodded vaguely. Clearly the threat of the Scots being reinforced and returning to crush us completely was of no consequence to him.

  ‘We’ll talk in the morning, my lord. You’ll think of something clever and I’ll tell the men. But you’ll be tired now, so why don’t you leave me and this one to have a little talk together?’ He rose and put his great paw on my shoulder. ‘Thank you, my lord.’

  ‘For what?’

  He gestured to the figure on the ground.

  ‘For helping me to keep my promise.’

  I woke to find the camp cleared of the Scots and our own dead. I walked to the barricade and looked over at the piles of Scots stacked in front of it. The stench was unbearable; all the same the archers and men-at-arms were busy working their way through the clothing of the dead.

  Edward Franke joined me.

  ‘They lost over 300 men last night,’ he said in a shocked voice. ‘They cannot have more than 200 or 300 left by now.’

  ‘Do you know how many arrows we have left?’

  ‘Not many, but Middleton will be here soon and even I don’t believe the Scots will attack again tonight.’

  I crossed to the east side of the camp to look into the valley. Fennell was already there. He pointed to the Scots milling about in the valley. We watched them as they formed little groups and rose away to the south. In a short while, they were out of sight.

  ‘Going to get reinforcements, I suppose?’ he said after a while. ‘What do you want me to tell the men?’

  I looked at him hopelessly. The events of the past few days had exhausted my powers of inventiveness. I shrugged my shoulders.

  ‘I think I’ll tell the men that you believe the Scottish scouts have reported a sighting of Middleton coming up from the south, and they are scared of being caught between him and us here.’

  ‘And when the Scots return?’ I said wearily.

  ‘It won’t matter by then, my lord. We’ll all be too busy fighting to worry about where Middleton disappeared to,’ he said cheerfully.

  He was right, of course. Why bother telling the truth? Morale was sky-high as Middleton was expected any day now – better that the
men lived their last day in hope rather than in despair. To maintain the fiction, I told Edward to distribute the remainder of the rations that night.

  It was early the next day that the Scots returned. I did not see them, as all our men were on the southern side of the camp waiting for the first sighting of Middleton, while I was on the west with Fennell.

  ‘When the Scots return,’ he said quietly, ‘we’ll say that Middleton cannot be far behind.’

  ‘I think we need to move into a central defensive position,’ I interrupted him. ‘The Scots will have learned their lesson by now and will attack from all sides.’

  Edward Franke ran to us.

  ‘There’s a small cloud of dust in the south,’ he panted.

  We walked together to the south side, pushing our way through the archers. I could see nothing, but Fennell muttered ‘horsemen’. A few moments later I could see a few specks on the horizon.

  ‘Probably about 500. They’ve got their reinforcements,’ Fennell added.

  I knew they were Scots, but in my tired state I pretended for a moment that they were Middleton’s men. My shoulders sank; there was no chance it could be them. Even the numbers were wrong. I remembered him saying, ‘I’ll bring up the Carlisle horse. They’ll be 700 or 800 of us.’ I pinched myself irritably; of course they were Scots. Middleton was dead anyway.

  My daydream was dispersed by Fennell bellowing to his men to return to their posts; smiling broadly, the archers obeyed. With good humour, they followed him to the western barricade, and I waved my men-at-arms to the east. Edward Franke stayed with me.

  It began to rain heavily, for which I was glad as it restricted visibility. With any luck the men would not know that they had been deluded for a good few hours, and we would all just fight this last battle. I pulled my cloak around me and sent Edward to the east side.