Games of Otterburn 1388

by Charles Randolph Bruce

Mustering near the kirk of Southdean along the valley of the upper Jed Water about four miles from the northern border of England were the Scots preparing for raiding. Including Carrick’s small contribution of men the count was close to ninety-five hundred including knights, men-at-arms, archers, ordinary servants, and horse lads.

  There was a meager gathering of village folk who lived in the vicinity of the small kirk that were intrigued by the sudden excitement that had befallen them. They stood on the rim and watched.

  Within the midst of the village was a hunting lodge of stone and rough hewn log construction then owned by an old knight who castled elsewhere in Lothian at that time and rarely mustered a sufficient ambition for the hunt.

  Earl Carrick awkwardly got from his horse being with a bad leg that was additionally stiffened from the three days of travel from Carrick.

  Through the trees the knight Alexander Ramsay saw him alight.

  “The Guardian has arrived, Milord,” said Ramsay coming to James Douglas, the Earl of Douglas and of Mar. Thirty-one year old James was tall and muscular and a foreboding knight on any field of battle. He was grand nephew of the famous knight James ‘the Black’ Douglas associated with King Robert the Bruce.

  “How many did he bring?” asked Douglas.

  “Three hundred… four maybe, I reckon, Milord,” answered Ramsay. “I nae counted.”

  Douglas huffed but was quick to cool at the disappointing numbers.

  “Got a bad gimp, too,” said Ramsay leaning toward the earl so his quiet voice would not carry beyond the man’s ear.

  “Gimp?”

  “Heard he was kicked by a horse,” said Ramsay.

  “Nae need to whisper that,” said Douglas, “Soon be that the whole camp will know.”

  “Sooth,” remarked Ramsay as a last word on the subject.

  “Guide him here… See that he and his men have all they need… that we can provide… of course.”

  “Aye, Milord,” replied the knight and turned to fetch Carrick to the hunting lodge and settle his travel weary troops.

  Ramsay made his way through the green trees to where John Stewart was standing wondering if any had noted his arrival.

  “Well come, Milord Guardian,” greeted Ramsay with an abbreviated bow,”

  “Lord Ramsay,” said John. “Ye know where Fife is?”

  “Ye’re to stay in the lodge amongst those trees yon, Milord,” he instructed with a point of his gloved hand. “I believe yer brother is there now.”

  “I understand,” said the earl. He took his horse by the reins and handed them to his squire and added, “Follow me.”

  When John got to the multiple room lodge and entered he overheard his brother Fife in a heated argument with James Douglas.

  “Yer notion of a raid on West March is a fool’s errand!” Douglas was saying.

  “And yer’s is but a vainglorious misadventure,” back argued Fife.

  “But the riches are in the east… the east is where the wealth is! That will hurt them the worst!” countered Douglas.

  “The west does not have wealth, ye say? But it does have its share… and it is where we can link to our success on Ireland and Man… Don’t ye figure that for somethin’?” barked Fife.

  Upon hearing the two men argue John shook his head in disbelief and moved deeper into the building looking for an available space that he presumed would be his.

  “Riches! That’s what will get London’s blood to curdle… riches wrenched from their hands and into ours!” reiterated Douglas forcefully. “I want King Richard’s blood to turn to piss and run out from under his fingernails!”

  “And I say it’ll not be so,” Robert growled back with equal fervor. “We all want to pay Richard back for his toothless raid into Scotland but we’ll ne’er get revenge by yer scheme!”

  John hoped it would not come to the brandishing of blades between the two hot heads.

  “I want the spoils of the East March,” repeated Douglas trying a less rational approach.

  Fife growled. Then sighed deeply and said in a calmer voice “Very well.”

  Douglas smiled thinking he had won Earl Robert over.

  “Take yer portion of the men and go wherever ye wish,” said Fife spitefully.

  Douglas paused. He was not expecting that. “My portion?”

  “The portion of the army is from yer lands and vassals and those lords ye can coddle to yer wit. Take them east. I will take mine west,” explained Robert.

  “But ye have four times the men, Milord,” said the crest fallen Douglas.

  “And my father is the king,” threatened Robert, “and my brother is guardian.”

  Earl Douglas knew when he was whipped. “I get yer point.”

  John Stewart pulled the leather strap latch to the door and went into the room without being announced. “Ye men hain’t puzzled out yer plan as yet?” he asked already knowing the answer.

  “Brother John,” greeted Earl Robert as he stood from his place on the hard bench seat.

  “Milord, Guardian,” said Douglas bowing just enough to be polite. “Ye’ve arrived I see.”

  “With three hundred fifty men and forty knights,” said John holding to his stand.

  “Well come they… and ye are,” said Robert.

  “This is quite a showin’,” said John taking a deep breath. “How many’s here?”

  “Your four hundred or so puts us well over ninety-five hundred,” answered Douglas.

  “Ye men are ‘bout ready for a big war, methinks,” said John. “Seems almost twice what Granddaddy had at Bannockburn as I recall the stories.”

  “Need more these days, brother,” said Robert sitting back on his bench at the table.

  “‘Specially since yer splittin’ them up and goin’ in two different directions,” opined John.

  “Ye spyin’ on us, brother?” asked Fife.

  “Thin door,” replied John giving the door an underhand couple of knocks.

  “‘Tis for true, ne’ertheless,” growled Douglas retaking his position, expecting an ally in John.

  “Don’t ye figure ye’ll have enough fightin’ a’ready?” said John in a calm voice.

  “What would ye do, lord guardian?” slyly pushed Douglas.

  “I’m not here to choose yer sides for ye,” said Carrick. “I’m here to bring ye what troops I can spare for the venture.”

  “And we are certainly pleased to have ye along as well,” said Robert slathering on the butter. “Have ye seen the king of late?”

  “I did see our father nay more than three days past,” said John looking directly at Robert then deciding to add a stab of guilt. “I bothered to stop by Dundonald.”

  “And was he well?” he asked without accepting the guilt.

  “Not so bad off as he could give me poor advice on subjects I care not about,” answered John.

  “Not changed then?” said Robert.

  “Keep an eye on ye, he said,” replied John. “He said for me to keep an eye on ye, my brother.”

  “An eye on me?” asked Robert. “Why would he say such a thing?”

  “Reckon he wanted me to keep ye safe. Older brother that I am… ye know,” answered John feigning kindliness.

  Robert smiled but was certainly puzzled.

  “Ye men can continue yer argument now,” said John as he reached for the latch on the door. “I know I am the Guardian but this raid is tainted with far more ill than I would like to think was good for our dear Scotland. Fights seem to be rampant along our border with Englanda’ready.”

  “We are but protecting our own, John!” parried Robert.

  “As ye say, brother,” continued John. “I know ye found out the Bruce had punished the Marches for a number of years and it eventually we got a treaty of peace but ye might be findin’ this to be a different situation nowadays.”

  Douglas and Fife pretended to care but in the final analysis they truly were not interested in what John had to say. In some philosophical realm both men knew
John to be right but they were making decisions in a far lower realm than cerebral.

  Robert’s anger suddenly rose. He stood and pushed his face tight to Douglas’ spitting his words, “Hain’t lettin’ ye go east on yer own!... I know ye think of me as a worst commander than yerself but ye’ll be takin’ my orders for this raid!”

  James Douglas’ smile of confidence turned to a frown as Robert whisked past him toward the door.

  John who already had a hand on the latch swung it wide for Robert as he whipped by to have an out-of-doors meeting with his men.

  “We’ll take this up again when ye return, Milord,” said Douglas his voice trailing off behind his liege.

  “Not likely,” growled Robert through gritted teeth.

  “London is mystified,” started Robert the Stewart as he began his meeting to tell of his plan to raid into the West March to get the attention of the twenty-one year old King Richard II of England and his baronial ‘Lords Appellant’ who had usurped much of the power from the king because they had rebelled against their king in particular and his Bohemian queen in general. The crisis came when the conscripted army of the king under the command of Robert la Vere abandoned their commander and deserted into the swamp at the battle of Radcot Bridge the year before.

  He began his talk, “Our raid on Carlingford, Ireland and Douglas Bay on Man led by the two men who stand beside me here has made the English lords sit up and wonder what the Scots here’bouts are fixed to do. If ye don’t already know these men… on my left is Sir Robert Stewart of Durisdeer and my right is Sir William Douglas of Nithsdale the son of Archibald… the Grim… true son of Black Douglas and Lord of Galloway.”

  Archibald, standing within a man or two of his son in the circle, hooted and waved his battle axe above his head in support of his son. The other two hundred and thirty-seven high knights who were gathered followed the proud father and added to the din.

  Carlingford and Man had been very successful raids that ended with fifteen galleys of spoils in food and weapons bonded to their current venture with the added boon of the purloined galleys then moored in Loch Ryan.

  “At first light on the morn we’ll be goin’ raidin’ in the West March toward Carlisle!” announced Robert.

  Another round of expected rousing hoots filled the air.

  In the meantime, a young man named Alfred of about twenty years was standing hard by the meeting area had heard enough and while he seemed to have a good chance of undetected escape he slipped away across the camp ground of knight’s tents and temporary debris constructions to make for the pinfold where some of the horses for the raid were kept. The area was most of an acre and chosen chiefly for the new green grass under an open sky. Its boundary was defined by sturdy branches tied chest high onto the trunks of surrounding trees.

  Alfred brazenly entered the pinfold and was immediately challenged.

  “Who ye with?” asked the suspicious squire of Sir John Swinton of Brunswickshire named James, a lad of about thirteen years but large and strong for his age.

  “A knight of high importance,” snarked Alfred evading the question. “Come to fetch my master’s destrier, I have,” he lied.

  “Which knight?” asked James growing more suspicious.

  “Uh…” he paused to think and blurted with the first name that came to mind, “The Grim!... now leave me to my master’s work ere I get a thrashin’,” he blurted.

  James smiled. “Which destrier ye reckon’s his one?”

  Alfred’s head began to reel thinking he had been discovered. “Yon one,” he said pointing to a thick group of horses.

  “Which yon one?” questioned James honing in on the man.

  Alfred could go no further. He balled his fist and struck James in the eye knocking him to the grass. He then made for the horse closest at hand, grabbed it by the mane and jump-rolled onto its back kicking it hard in the ribs.

  The horse reared and about tossed his rider back to the ground then it ran hard for the open gate.

  Alfred was gleeful.

  James got to his feet just in time to see horse and rider coming hard on him.

  Alfred intended to run James under hoof.

  James stood his ground as the horse came closer.

  Alfred kicked the stolen horse hard in the ribs.

  James did not waver and at the last instant he jumped to the side of the horse, grabbed the boot of the rider and pushed him off the mount onto the other side.

  Alfred fell hard to the ground as the horse kept running through the gate.

  “Ye bastard English spy!” screamed James as he pounced on him and began to whale the daylights from the already dazed Alfred.

  The horse continued its run through the tents and past the gathered knights and nobles at the lodge.

  Nineteen year old Sir John Dunbar grabbed the horse by the neck-hair and weighted it down until it stopped. There was a rouse of excitement around the camp because of the runaway horse so that none of the men heard the more important ruckus at the pinfold.

  James got one good last punch in before he fell over onto Alfred as if trying to hold the man down even if he happened to pass out.

  As the Earl of Moray was returning the horse to the pinfold he saw Squire James make his last strike on Alfred’s face.

  He came to the lad, “This fight got somethin’ to do with this loose horse?” he demanded.

  Weak but determined James with the aid of a nearby sapling forced himself to his feet and answered, “He’s either a spy or a thief… Milord.”

  Alfred began to stir.

  James gave him a good kick with his booted foot.

  “How ye figure, Squire?” growled Dunbar stepping between the two men.

  Alfred tried to remain quiet on the ground but could not help the involuntarily low moans leaking from his mouth because of the pain of his wounds.

  “Speaks funny… like English talk,” explained James.

  Dunbar wanting to discover the truth for himself, yanked up the smarting man by the back of his shirt and ordered him, “Speak!”

  The man swooned and fell against a tree and with little regard to Dunbar’s nobility status, he went mute.

  “I swear he’s of English blood,” insisted James. “And he was tryin’ to steal a horse… said it was his lord’s!”

  “Who’d he say?”

  “Lord Archibald, Milord,” he replied.

  “I know Archibald’s men and he hain’t among them… Ye’re right, squire, he is either a spy or a thief.”

  Dunbar pulled at Alfred’s collar guiding him in the direction of the lodge.

  “Here’s the reason for the loose horse,” he announced when he came close to the knot of high knights.

  Sir John Swinton spoke when he saw his personal squire following close on the heels of Dunbar handling the prisoner by his collar, “This yer doin’, James?”

  “Aye, Milord… ‘tis! And I know he’s a spy, Milord… he’s a spy!” insisted James. “If he was a thief he would’a got a horse from the far side of the pinfold and sneaked it out betwixt the trees. I’d’a ne’er known it.”

  “My squire has a good point, Milord,” replied Swinton to Dunbar.

  “Then we need to know what he knows ere we kill him,” whispered Robert in Dunbar’s ear.

  “Let me work on him,” begged James gingerly touching his stinging blackened eye. “I got him beat a lot a’ready and I got a right, I caught him… Milord!”

  Robert looked at John Dunbar mostly to ask the silent question.

  John nodded his answer then drew his dagger and handed it to his squire. “Don’t be killin’ him ‘til ye have what he knows.”

  “I know,” said James. “I’ve seen it done.”

  James was still plenty angry and took a personal pleasure in cutting the shirt off Alfred. The tip of the blade nipped the prisoner’s skin here and there as he went. James gave Alfred several more kicks in his ribs and his groin.

  Alfred whined and moaned terribly.
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br />   “Feelin’ cold.. and scared… are ye?” asked James cunningly as he churned his hatred under his own skin.

  Alfred wept more for the sake of his getting caught.

  Then James asked, “Do the English know we’re comin’ for a fight?”

  “I don’t know!” Alfred lied.

  James smiled at the spy’s negative answer.

  Young Dunbar and John Swinton stood several paces away and observed. Other interested men had taken up positions behind them.

  James was thankful for the sharp blade. He made a long shallow cut down Alfred’s belly and he screamed and cried more.

  “He repeated his request for information, “Does yer English liege lords know we’re a’comin’?”

  The spy broke easily from there and cried out in a mixture of fear and anger, “They know! They know how many ye got fixin’ to come against them!”

  “Who?” growled James pushing for more while secretly his own anger was wishing Alfred had not broken so easily.

  “Northumberland, that’s who! I speak to him personally! He will be very angry if you do harm to me!” he howled out in vain. He then dropped his head and watched his red blood drip to the green grass. He softened. “I sent the message with my friend yesterday! They’ll be ready for you when you get there!”

  Sir John Dunbar grabbed Alfred by his hair and pulled his head up so he could see Alfred directly in his tearful eyes. “Do they know anymore?” he asked.

  “I hope they kill everyone of you stinkin’ Scotch… I wish you all dead and rottin’ on the cold ground!” he cried out with a desperate blurt of emotion.

  Sir John put his arm around James’ neck and walked him toward the hunting lodge where Sir Robert awaited the news. James handed the earl’s dagger back to him. “‘Tis plenty sharp,” he remarked then asked, “We a’killin’ him?”

  The earl was silent on that point but when the pair entered the lodge and into the dining hall he said to the gathered knights and lords. “Northumberland knows of our size and hopefully nay more.”

  “But we’re not aimed at Northumberland,” said John the Guardian who stood uneasy on his crippled leg. “That is good news, hain’t it?”

  “But they know we’re amassed for a war,” interjected Earl Douglas who was secretly delighted at the news.