“Milord! Milord! Scotch are on us!”
Neville stood taller and looked over the wall top to see Archibald and his army on the outskirts of his castle sitting horse.
“We’re under siege,” muttered Neville almost inaudibly.
“Milord?” asked a close guard.
Lord Ralph did not answer but took a deep breath and scanned the length of the Scottish line then he ordered his guard, “Send runners to the other parts of the wall to see where else these wild heathen are and what they’re doin’… Report back only to me!”
“Milord,” replied the guard and set off.
To a second man standing he said, “Find that goddamned warden of the garrison, Easley, and get him here! And tell him to get the archers to the wall… quick!” Then he looked again over the top and saw an armored standard bearer riding down the line on a handsome white warhorse carrying a fast fluttering banner with a white lion rampant on one half and the three white stars on a blue bar across the top and the red heart of Robert the Bruce emblazoned on a white field below.
“Archibald Douglas!” he gulped in his throat.
August 12 - Early Morning
The Bishopric of Durham
It is going to be a perfect day thought James Douglas as he first opened his eyes and saw nothing more than the close trees misted in the copse. Being in ‘enemy’ regions he slept in some of his armor and felt completely absorbed in the environs as his clothing was as dank as the air.
He and his men had had a good half night’s sleep after mostly staying in the saddle for the last two nights. They were anxious to get to the reiving so they could have red meat to go with their oat bannocks.
Earl John Dunbar stood tall in the fog and looked about him. “How we goin’ to find anythin’ to reive in this muddle?”
“I ken where Durham town is,” said Douglas coming to John. “We’ll be a plumb surprise to those folk.”
“Be a plumb surprise to me if we get there to surprise them,” replied John.
The remaining knights began to stir from their wool coverings.
George Dunbar came to the knot of Douglas and John. “Hell of a morn for a raid,” he said wiping his eyes. “How we findin’ Durham?”
Douglas smiled and shook his head a bit then explained, “We’re camped on the east side of the River Wear.”
“And Wear runs past Durham,” interjected George.
“How far?” asked John.
“Less than half a league,” answered James.
John smiled in approval. “Ye been this way in the fog before?”
“Have,” said Douglas as he turned to fetch and saddle his destrier.
The mist was thinning a bit as the Scots approached the town of Durham.
On the south end of the loop in the River Wear and high up on the bluff stood the famous cathedral and north of the cathedral was the strong castle keep. Surrounding the cathedral and keep was a high impregnable wall.
The Bishopric of Durham included a land mass similar to an earldom except it was separate from the London government in that it had its own laws, parliament, tax collections, customs duties, army, and even to the extent of issuing its own coinage. It was like a country within a country except it paid a portion of its revenue to the English crown.
It was not what was within the wall that was the target of the Scots but the influential and lucrative market on the north end of the fortress.
Market Street was narrow between the buildings and the buildings were tight set together. The sheriff’s men patrolled the streets from Market to Gillygate. Within the trading atmosphere there was always somebody in an argument with somebody else.
“They’re stirrin’ a bit now James,” whispered George.
Douglas’ knights were within spying distance of the town market.
“There’s a holdin’ pen out back from the flesh hewers, did ye see it?” asked Douglas.
“Ne’er did,” admitted George.
“It is there, believe me, and it’s full of kine and such ready for the takin’,” said Douglas still in a whisper.
“Ye want me to go that way?” asked George with a nod of his head.
“Take twenty knights and ten archers, the rest of us will go straight up the main street and bring them havoc,” said Douglas. Then he nudged his horse forward while Sir George culled out his forty or so men and pushed toward the right side of the market behind the row of buildings.
Douglas began the raid with a shock to the population. He had his men ride to the edge of the buildings of the market and all hooted their horns as loudly as they could for about three minutes while Earl George got his men around to the back of the flesh hewer’s shop.
By the end of the hoot the population of the town was wide awake and in a panic to get to their weapons or get far beyond the horn blast.
When the two large framed and well fed flesh hewers of the shop heard the horns blare out they instinctively knew their livestock was in jeopardy.
“After our stock, they are!” said the first man looking around the darkened room for his cleaver.
The second man pulled an old sword from its pinnings on the wall. “Scotch been scared off from here for some years now. Reckon its them come again?”
“Be findin’ out quick enough,” said the first as he opened the door to the pens.
In the fog the flesh hewers could vaguely see George and his men hacking the rope defining the pen at the posts.
“They’re thievin’ us!” yelled the first man as he started through the animals with his cleaver high in the air hoping he would appear fearsome.
A bowman on his horse raised in his stirrups and drew back his bow. The arrow flew striking the man mid-throat.
The second flesh hewer saw the hand cleaver fly up in the air and knew his fellow butcher had been struck. He quaked as the archer got a second arrow in the air. The man ran back inside and gasped as he heard the thud of the arrow hit the door behind him.
The butcher made straight for the front of the shop and out onto Market Street swinging his partially rusted sword and screaming in unintelligible gibberish.
Douglas saw the man fleeing and knew George had gotten to the livestock pens.
The spearmen tied their spears upward to the saddles and got from their horses going to work using the cord from the fence to tie the tail of one bovine to the horns of the next.
The bowmen kept a careful watch from the saddle on their horses as the spearmen worked their ropes.
The merchants in the town were running hither and thither as scared rabbits hoping to be saved by somebody else or find a hole to hide in.
James Douglas and his men moved onto the street. Some were still hooting. Some were cutting down anyone who approached them with a weapon. It was easy to see that brave disorganized people were no threat to the Scots so that in moments not even the brave sallied out into the overwhelming odds.
Fear and panic gave way to screams of agony as the reivers poured into the murky besieged streets.
Bishop Walter Skirlaw of Durham, happened to be at the battlements of the castle keep when the mass horns sounded. A cold chill traversed his spine. He could see nothing through the morning fog but he could hear the weeping and screaming of the people in the market and knew something was terribly wrong and that there was mass devastation and mayhem afoot less than a hundred yards from his ears.
He ran to the entrance of the battlement level of the castle and frantically called out, “There’s killin’ a’goin’ on in the market!”
“Shall we send troops, Your Grace?” shouted back one of the guards.
“Call the warden of the garrison and get men to the market, quickly!” shouted the bishop who was by then in a panic. He could not abide the guard’s slow-witted manners and so hiked up his robes tight to his buttocks and raced down two flights of stone steps to deliver the message for himself pounding directly on the warden’s door. “Get troops to the market! Something terrible is happenin’!”
The warde
n opened his door fast and stared with wide bleary eyes at his liege. “The market, you say… Your Grace?”
“Now man! Now!” emphasized the bishop, not understanding why the warden was not moving faster in time of peril.
The besotted warden then realized the bishop’s want and became animated to the cause. “Yes, Your Grace!” he chirped and tottered past the bishop, sans britches, toward the garrison’s quarters.
When he saw the warden’s bare legs, Bishop Skirlaw realized his own were showing and feeling a bit embarrassed suddenly dropped his own gathered robes, pressed the cloth against his body just in case someone was watching then headed toward the castle’s small chapel to pray.
James Douglas had occasion to reconnoiter the town three years earlier on a minor excursion and knew the buildings and their contents. He went straight for the money lenders in a building in the middle of the row of establishments.
Within the building were doors to rooms where the money lenders dealt with their customers who would borrow money and make payments or make exchanges for proprietary coinages from the different regions or even other countries.
With two knights to his back he went into the building and kicked down the first door. Within was a lender clutching a leather pouch to his breast and wildly swinging a sword that he had no notion how to handle.
“Best give it all over,” advised Douglas, “lest I kill ye here and now.” The frightened lender threw the satchel to the floor at Douglas’ feet and stood back with both hands on the handle of his beautifully crafted sword.
Douglas picked up the bag and looked inside.
So distraught was the lender over his money being handled by a thief that his sense of possession overcame his fear. He screamed and ran straight for Douglas swinging madly.
Douglas dropped the money and followed it to the floor. The lender had no idea he had been upper sliced to his rib cage until his scream failed his lips.
The two knights came into the room as the man fell at their feet.
“I like his sword,” said one.
“Have it,” said Douglas handing the pouch of loot to the man. “Look for more in trap doors in the floors or… walls. There’s probably more in some of the other rooms, too but be aware that some money lenders are not as inept as this one.”
James Douglas left the building and mounted his horse to see how the reiving was progressing. He knew the longer it took the worse off they would be in terms of a fight.
Earl George came to him saying, “Got the bovines and sheep in the north wood. The stinkin’ pigs and the shoats were slick with mud and hard to catch but we got most.”
“We’ll be a’leavin’ soon,” said Douglas. “Take what ye’ve got at hand, go back the way we came and the rest of us’ll be along directly.”
The earl nodded, wheeled his destrier and left to do Douglas’ bid.
Douglas rode toward Gillygate and Silver Streets. The fog was still thick enough that he could not see the wall surrounding the castle and cathedral but he could hear noises and knew the garrison would be coming from the gate at any moment. He knew they would not know the strength of their opponent and he would not know how many were coming for him.
Earl Douglas hooted a retreat on his hunting horn hoping to escape a conflict all togather.
One of the first men to emerge close to Douglas was a yeoman named Mungan who was a giant compared to his peers. He had a screaming woman over his shoulder and when he got to his horse he threw her over its rump behind the saddle.
Douglas rode close to the man saying, “No women!”
“She’ll fetch a ransom, Milord,” lied the man looking up at Douglas.
“Ye a’payin’ it?” growled Douglas.
“Nae, Milord… I catched her for ye,” said the spearman.
“Put her off and get more men-at-arms to meet me in the midpoint of Market Street,” ordered Douglas.
“Aye, Milord,” said Mungan reluctantly.
“Now, soldier!” said Douglas forcefully.
The man pulled the woman off his horse. “Can’t go, wench,” he muttered as he gave her a shove.
“Ye be back?” she asked in a disappointed voice.
Douglas paused. “Ye know that woman?” he asked as Mungan climbed aboard his horse.
“She’s Scotch, like us. Her name is Adara,” he said as he wheeled his horse. “They’ll be killin’ her soon’s they find out it was Scotch that run over their town, Milord.”
“I reckon they a’ready know that fact. Draw her aboard,” commanded Douglas, “Get those spears in the street now. We’re ‘bout to have a fight!”
Mungan smiled broadly and motioned for Adara to come to him and when she did his strong arm swung her back onto the rump of his horse only that time sitting up. She was so glad she released another of her blood curdling screams and laughed joyously.
He grimaced for the sake of his ears and kicked his horse.
“By yer leave, Milord,” said the warrior as he hurried off to round up more spearmen and archers.
Douglas could hear the chains working to raise the portcullis inside the gate and knew the time was short. “Hurry, damn ye, hurry!” he shouted after Mungan then went into the other direction bent on the same errand.
Douglas saw his men as they passed him carrying tanned leather, livestock of various kinds from chickens to sheep, a wagonload of various foodstuffs from which they were randomly eating, sacks of coins, leather horse tack, and many other valuables along with twenty or so prisoners strung neck to hands in queue that his men thought might bring a valuable ransom later.
“We’re retreatin’!” shouted Douglas.
“We heard yer horn,” replied a high knight coming to his side.
“Get men on horse in the other street. We need a rearguard!” came back Douglas. “We’re about to be attacked!”
“I know where to get them, Milord,” said the knight as he wheeled down Silver Street.
“Hope to hell yer right,” said Douglas under his breath as he turned toward Market Street to be the rearguard of at least one.
He arrived on the street among a mêlée of outbound movement.
The next few men passing him were stopped. “Need some to fight,” announced Douglas as he pointed to the oncoming Englishmen.
They dropped their loads, drew their swords and stood their ground.
“Any more behind ye?” asked Douglas drawing his own sword.
The two knights came from the money lender’s shop. “Ye needin’ help?”
Douglas saw they were fairly loaded with coin money and answered, “We got this. Ye two get with the others!” Douglas threw his sword over his shoulder pointing their way.
“Aye, Milord,” said one of the knights as the other grabbed the dangling reins of their horses and they climbed aboard and headed out of town.
Mungan came to Market Street with Adara holding tight to his back. There were about forty men riding behind him.
Out of the edge of the fog Douglas saw they were being pursued by the English troops fresh from the gates of the castle.
“Get ready!” shouted Douglas.
The archers who were on horseback saw the English coming toward them and rose up in their stirrups and let fly arrows over the heads of the Scots who were trying to get to Douglas’ rearguard position. The arrows found many homes in English flesh as those who were hit stumbled and fell.
There no longer was enough gap between the Scots and the English so that the archers could be effective so they slipped their bows over their shoulders and chests and drew their swords and axes.
Douglas held his sword high and kicked his horse to charge.
The spearmen quickly wheeled and kicked their horses. They dropped their spears over the heads of their mounts just like a tourney knight and became an instant force to reckon with.
Adara, still holding tight to her giant savior, squealed with delight as the charge came close to the English defenders.
There was the terr
ible sound of the first clash of troops coming together. Adara’s screams went quiet as Mungan threw his splintered spear to the ground and drew his sword. Adara realized what he was about and turned him loose. He jumped off and went to the street to wade into the English troops.
She leapt into the saddle and moved the horse back from the thickest of the fighting.
An English foot soldier saw her and figured her for an easy kill. He moved toward her position, his sword poised to strike.
Douglas faced more men on the English side who were taking more of his men.
Adara pulled the battle axe from the saddle loop as the English soldier rushed to her side. She screamed bloody terrible and the soldier hesitated just long enough for her to strike a hard blow onto the opening between his helm and the chain mail covering his chin. Blood flew from the man’s face as he staggered back dropping his sword and ending flat on his back to see his last.
A flash of satisfaction crossed Adara’s expression as she watched the soldier die on the street. Her attention went from the street back to the fight as she looked for Mungan.
The English warden who led his men to the battle must have been overly inebriated as he had fallen to the hard dirt of the street and passed into unconsciousness.
The knight who had gone off in search of men came in behind the English and ran around the English troops.
Douglas saw the maneuver and thought it was a good opportunity to withdraw since their main objective of reiving had been accomplished. He hooted his horn again and his men withdrew. The English troops, being leaderless, allowed that to happen.
The remaining straggling Scots left the town with their liege.
Within the half hour the fog had lifted from the streets to the realization that the Scot’s had effectively raided their town and taken quite a haul with them as they left.
The titular head of the merchants demanded and got an immediate audience with Bishop Skirlaw who agreed to pursue the Scots post haste with as many knights and men-at-arms as he could spare so as to return not only the reived goods but the town’s pride as well.
The bishop went back to the battlements where he had first heard the raid through the fog. The air was clear as he looked down on the market place. He was thankful the raider’s had not set it ablaze as they had from time to time in the past and yet on the other hand he realized the air was just too wet to strike a spark. He was still fitful and pressed with guilt over the unnecessary loss of English life since he had dismissed the message that Sir Henry Percy had sent him warning of just such a possibility but he thought he would have at least three more days to plan.
Games of Otterburn 1388 Page 5
