The King's Dogge

by Nigel Green

  And Richard of Gloucester would be shamed and ridiculed.

  ‘I won’t be defeated’, I told Lord Stanley resolutely.

  A few weeks later my confidence waned. The first Scottish convoy moving down the coast road to Berwick had been poorly defended and, not expecting attack, our archers made short work of the few Scottish troops. We had taken the wagons and draught animals to camp and buried the Scottish dead. It was as though the convoy had never existed. However, with the second convoy, we lost the element of surprise. While we captured the supplies, a number of Scottish horsemen managed to escape in the driving rain. Fennell’s archers had been unable to shoot properly and, while our horsemen had killed a number of fleeing Scots, some got away.

  ‘So what will the Scots do now?’ Dick Middleton asked as we rode back to the camp in the great forest.

  ‘I suspect what the Scots will do is to gather all their supplies for Berwick and send them down with the reinforcements. This would serve two purposes. Firstly, they would prove a strong escort on the journey south to Berwick. Secondly, if they could get their supplies to Berwick, they know we would have to retreat.’

  He frowned. ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘Because once they have all their men and supplies at Berwick the English invasion cannot go ahead,’ I said irritably. ‘They would be too strong a force for Richard of Gloucester’s army to leave behind.’

  Dick Middleton agreed hesitantly.

  ‘Mm… well I suppose we’ll just have to wait until they move their men and supplies down to Berwick. We might just be able to deal with them, providing they are not too strong.’

  This was the issue that had caused me to worry. At the outset I had assumed the Scots would reinforce and re-supply Berwick bit by bit. They were, after all, moving supplies in their own territory and had no reason to fear attack. But with the knowledge that a hostile force was based in their country, their tactics would alter radically. They would merely muster the strongest force they could and send it down to Berwick along with the supplies. Nor did they have any need to look for us; the Scots knew that we would have to attack their force. If we failed to defeat it and the Scots reached Berwick, then the English plans for invasion would be ruined.

  Back in camp, Sergeant Haxx greeted me.

  ‘Have you learnt anything from the Scottish prisoners we captured after the first attack?’ I asked him.

  He shook his head as we walked together on the soft moss.

  ‘Nossir! Scotch bastards refuse to give anything but their names, sir!’

  ‘What nothing at all?’

  Haxx halted reluctantly. ‘One of those Scottish thieves has the same name as you have, sir – Lovell; he’s called, Henry Lovell. Mind you, I wouldn’t trust that little bastard.’

  ‘Why not?’

  He gave me a pitying look. ‘Got clean hands sir. How many soldiers do you know that have got clean hands. It’s not natural sir!’

  ‘I’d like to meet Henry Lovell.’

  ‘I’ll have him sent to you.’

  It was dusk when the mysterious Henry Lovell was brought to my tent. We inspected each other silently. He seemed shorter and slighter than me. He was probably a bit older too, I mused; there was grey in that sandy hair of his.

  ‘I will tell you nothing that will assist the invasion,’ he told me curtly.

  I grinned at him.

  ‘I wasn’t going to ask you why a well-born man was going to Berwick, while it was under siege.’

  ‘I would not tell you.’

  ‘Nor why he sought to pass himself off as a common soldier.’

  ‘It’s none of your business.’

  ‘Tell me about yourself.’

  He looked amused.

  ‘Do you think you’ll succeed where your man Haxx failed?’

  ‘No, but I won’t try.’

  To put him at his ease I told him a little of myself first. He listened attentively and, when I had finished, he got up and stretched.

  ‘You’re honest, Francis; I like that in a man.’

  I choked on my wine.

  ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘What you’ve told me bears out everything that we already know about you,’ he replied coolly.

  But despite our mutual suspicion, Henry Lovell and I drifted closer to one another. If there were certain topics we would never discuss, there were a great many others which we could. We found we had common interests and drank together. One evening he told me of himself.

  His own life had been an interesting one. He had done his military training in France and then moved to Burgundy to become a hired soldier for Duke Charles.

  ‘I’m surprised you survived that experience.’

  ‘So was I,’ he admitted with a grin. ‘After Grandson, I swore that next time I would be the one holding the pike, not facing it.’15

  Lacking confidence in Duke Charles’s ability to win a battle, he had returned to Scotland and married, but, sadly, his wife had died in childbirth leaving him a son. After a spell fighting in the East March, he had entered the service of the Earl of Argyll, the Scottish Chancellor.

  ‘So what are your duties?’

  He raised an eyebrow.

  ‘What do you do for Richard of Gloucester?’

  ‘Mm… All right, I see. So where’s your home?’

  ‘Ballumbie.’ He grinned at my blank expression. ‘You mean to tell me that you’ve not heard of it? It’s near Dundee.’

  I believed that Dundee was on the east coast near Edinburgh.

  ‘Have your family always lived there?’

  ‘Originally we settled in Hawick.’

  ‘Oh yes, Hawick’

  I doubt I convinced him, but he continued regardless anyway.

  ‘That’s where the Scottish Lovells started,’ he explained. ‘Three or four generations after the Norman Conquest, one Ralph Lovell became quite a favourite of your king, Henry II. He gave him a wealthy heiress, Margaret of Hawick, to be his wife.’

  I had never heard of any of this before.

  ‘So the Scottish Lovells and the English branch descended side by side thereafter. Are there any more of us anywhere?’

  ‘Well I suppose there must be the French line.’ Henry smiled at my enthusiasm. ‘Our mutual ancestor came over at the time of William the Conqueror and was given lands in England but the rest of the family stayed in France. They must have done well for themselves. My father told me that one of them rose to become Chief Butler of Normandy.’

  ‘What does a chief butler do?’

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ Henry responded frankly. ‘It can’t be that important though or else we would have one in Scotland.’

  We laughed. Soon the time for me to make a final circuit of the camp before nightfall was upon us.

  ‘We’ll talk again,’ I promised Henry, ‘and, since we are kinsmen, I will ransom you and you can go home again.’

  But such an interlude was a rare moment of relief from my worry. Over the next few weeks we found no trace of supplies moving to Berwick. Obviously the Scots were gambling on supplying their garrison there with one large convoy escorted by all their reinforcements.

  Two days later our scouts spotted it.

  ‘Mother of Christ,’ Middleton muttered again. ‘Will you look at that?’

  I ignored him. I gestured for him to be silent and concentrated on the enormous column below us.

  I had to give the Scots credit. The long chain of wagons moved steadily along the track with the sea behind them and a protective screen of horsemen flanking the carts. Groups of men-at-arms marched alongside the wagons and a strong force of archers brought up the rear.

  ‘They’ve got outriders and scouts ahead,’ Middleton pointed to distant figures on horseback. ‘There will be no way of surprising them.’

  I continued to count.

  ‘Mind you, it’s not as if we could attack them,’ he continued. ‘There are thousands of them.’

  The Scottish column was pushing hard. Wagons with
broken wheels or axles were manhandled to one side and abandoned. Lamed horses were led away and replaced immediately. The loud and consistent cracking of whips indicated the pressure that the Scots were putting on their beasts to maintain the column’s momentum. From our vantage point on the hilltop, we watched as the enormous column snaked below us generating clouds of dust. As far as I could see there were no Scottish cavalry shadowing the chain of wagons.

  As the Scots passed our position and continued their march to Berwick, I rose from my prone position. Middleton leapt up and Captain Fennell groaned as he rubbed his cramped arm. I looked at each of them in turn.

  ‘200 wagons or so. Several smaller carts. Sufficient replacement draught animals…’ I began.

  ‘Probably about 700-800 men-at-arms.’ This was the estimation of our farsighted captain of archers. ‘Maybe another 100 or so archers.’

  ‘They could have more in the wagons. How many horse?’ I asked Middleton.

  By splitting out the counting we would arrive at a more accurate appraisal of the enemy’s strength.

  ‘Including scouts and outriders, I would say 400.’

  So the Scots numbered around 1300 men. We had 600. They were prepared to defend themselves and the only area in which we held a slight advantage was that we had more horsemen. But the Scots could be reinforced, and we had not got the element of surprise on our side. To attack such a force would be to commit our small force to oblivion.

  ‘We’ll return to camp,’ I said heavily.

  I found no surprise in the faces of either Fennell or Middleton.

  We led the horses as we would need them fresh for the return to Berwick, but as I trudged along my feelings of disquiet began to grow.

  On the face of it, the decision not to attack the Scots was sensible. They vastly outnumbered us and could be reinforced. To withdraw kept my small force intact. But then I stopped abruptly –intact for what? As soon as the Berwick garrison was reinforced and re-supplied, there was no way that the town could be taken. Slowly, I led the horse forward as I faced up to the sobering truth – if Berwick could not be taken, the English invasion could not take place, and Richard of Gloucester would be humiliated.

  I raised my hand to halt the column. Anne Neville and her husband were relying on me. Somehow I had to defeat the Scots and wipe out their entire convoy. None of it could be allowed to get through to Berwick. I needed time to think of a plan, so I called a halt to allow the horses to be watered. Then I summoned Middleton.

  ‘Will you take a number of your men and check that there are no other Scottish forces within the vicinity?’

  He looked up surprised.

  ‘Even if there are, they’ll hardly attack us while we’re mounted and moving away from the Scottish convoy. Is it really necessary?’

  He saw my glare.

  ‘We’ll be back in two hours.’

  After Middleton’s scouts had ridden out, I wandered away from the stream to think. I squatted down and drew endless diagrams in the dusty earth, discarding them one after the other until I came to see how the business could be managed.

  A hand touched my shoulder.

  ‘There’s no indication of any reinforcements in the immediate vicinity,’ Middleton smiled down at me. ‘Shall we resume the return to camp?’

  I stood up slowly. We would have to attack the Scottish column before it could be reinforced.

  ‘Captain Fennell!’ I shouted.

  He raised his arm in acknowledgement and ambled over. I looked at the pair of them.

  ‘We are not going to retreat. We will attack the Scottish column and destroy it.’

  Middleton gaped at me.

  ‘But that’s madness!’

  ‘Captain Fennell, take your men to the end of the moor. Cross the river past that abbey, and keep your men in concealment until I come to you.’

  ‘You’re going to attack the Scots without archers?’ he stuttered. ‘Correct. I want you to be a surprise for the second phase of the battle. Now Dick, get your men ready.’

  They hesitated.

  ‘That’s an order!’ I barked. ‘Now move, both of you.’

  Ahead of us the rising dust denoted the steady progress of the Scottish column. Presently, they would spot Middleton’s approach. He had been helpful, I reflected. Once he had got over his initial shock, he had been quick to make improvements to the plan. It had been his idea to make his force’s appearance as obvious to the Scots as possible.

  ‘You want the Scots to see us coming a long way off. That gives them more time to move their cavalry and bowmen against my horsemen. But you’ll have to work hard to ensure that your own angle of approach is concealed. Use every scrap of cover you can find.’

  ‘They might be expecting a diversionary attack,’ I agreed. In fact, they would probably have more men-at-arms at the end of the column to compensate for having moved their archers up to the head of the column to protect the Scottish cavalry. All right then, we’ll try and stay concealed so that they think you’re their only threat.’

  Hopefully, Middleton’s approach across the open moor would have been spotted by now and we could bring our men out of the old riverbed. I estimated that the rear of the Scots forces was not more than a mile away, but the further the Scots moved away, the greater the chances of our being detected as we moved up on it. Next to me, Sergeant Haxx glanced up at the sun.

  ‘Master Middleton should be in position now, sir.’

  To attack prematurely would be a disaster, but all the time the Scottish column was moving away from us. We would be best to move in a moment.

  ‘You remember the order of battle?’

  His eyes were steady on mine.

  ‘We attack their rear, sir. You takes the right. I takes their left. If that doesn’t work we makes a further attack to provoke that Scottish cavalry to come at us.’

  ‘Very good. Now the Horse Dance.’

  ‘To be done when you orders it, sir.’

  There was no expression in his eyes.

  ‘You’ve got volunteers?’

  ‘With the bonus you’ve offered them, I’ve got volunteers, my lord.’

  ‘They know the risk they’re taking? Not many will survive.’

  ‘Those bastards will do anything for money, my lord.’

  ‘Then get the men mounted.’

  And then it was back to a familiar routine. We eased into a trot, which turned into a canter, as we met the dust billowing from the Scottish column. We were galloping as we reached the end of the Scottish wagons and crashed into the men-at-arms guarding them.

  CHAPTER 12

  The surge was devastating. Razor sharp lances tore into the flanks of their bellowing oxen and frenzied draught horses. There was no time to cut the beasts free and allow them to escape. There were simply too many animals.

  In front of me, a driver leapt from his high seat to flee. Instinctively my horse swerved to the left as I drove my spear through the man’s chest. I glanced around quickly; panic was spreading fast as men desperately sought to avoid the tide of death and destruction that was engulfing them.

  Maddened by the smell of blood, the horses pulling the wagons tried to flee. Their ears pulled back and, flanks heaving, they strained at the traces which bound them. Many wagons were without drivers and guidance now – they careered into one another. I saw two carts overturned and heard the frantic neighing of trapped horses.

  Around me, our men chased the few men-at-arms that showed themselves. Some tried to fight, but a sword is poor protection against men on horses armed with long lances. As they fled, they found themselves colliding with each other or caught between wildly moving wagons. I saw a man-at-arms knocked down by a maddened draught horse and another was trampled by stampeding oxen.

  Frantically, I urged our men forward. We had to force the Scottish horse to turn on us; this was the whole essence of the plan. My divisionary attack force was the bait. Once the Scots were tempted to turn on us, then Middleton could attack them without fea
ring the Scottish archers. Our spears tore into the backs of screaming men-at-arms as they sought to evade us. Panic was spreading up the column now, but where was the Scottish horse?

  The plucky Scots fought back though. They must have had archers concealed in their wagons for I could hear the whirring of arrows. Protected by overturned carts, their bowmen began to find their targets.

  I guessed that in a moment we would lose the impetus of our attack. The horses were beginning to tire and we could not afford too many casualties. It was time to attack further up the column. I had the trumpet blown three times and as the men reformed I led them through the shattered convoy to Haxx’s force.

  ‘Casualties?’

  ‘About a quarter, my lord. And you?’

  ‘The same. We’ll try again further up.’

  We launched the second assault midway up the column. I guessed that we were out of range of the main force of Scottish archers and I believe that the bowmen who had been stationed at the rear of the column were not certain where we were. Despite the absence of archers, we were beaten back. Initially, our charge engendered chaos as it had before, but our horses were tiring now and the Scots sent spearmen against us. Most of our men had lost their lances by now. They were unable to counter the groups of Scots who stood out of range and jabbed at their mounts and then hacked at their riders as they slid to the ground. We were losing too many men. Soon the Scottish horse would have no need to move against us. We were becoming too few to pose a threat to our enemy. With the Scottish horse still protected by their archers too, Dick Middleton could not charge. We had to force the Scottish horse to move against us. I signalled to Haxx.

  ‘Now’, he snapped.

  I could think of no other way.

  ‘It’s now or never,’ he said curtly.

  I let my shoulders droop. God forgive me, but this was the only way I knew.

  ‘Do the Horse Dance.’

  He signalled to the remaining volunteers who were close by. I left him immediately and pushed my mount through the bellowing oxen and crazed horses. We had to get our men out and quickly.