Games of Otterburn 1388

by Charles Randolph Bruce

  He wrung his hands and fretted. He felt helpless as he cried out to heaven for the understanding of why his people had to suffer so.

  Within the hour the bishop had changed his mind about sending out troops to bring justice to the Scots for he feared it might be a two edged justice meaning his contingent of warriors within his immediate grasp would not be enough to accomplish the task and all of them would be senselessly slaughtered. It was that that he could not abide so he instead send warrants across the bishopric to immediately gather a greater army to shoo the Scots from the countryside.

  August 12 - Mid Morning

  Appleby in Westmorland,

  England

  The square eighty foot high Caesar’s Tower was surrounded by an extensive curtain wall enclosing three separate baileys that occupied the highest point on the bluff overlooking the River Eden in the Eden Valley. Below the castle was the town of Appleby on the edge of the river.

  Robert Stewart, Earl of Fife pulled rein on his horse about a mile north of the town,

  “Appleby’s not far to my figurin’,” he said.’

  “We’re goin’ to have to cross the river ere we get closer,” said Stewart of Durisdeer standing his mount at Robert’s side.

  Robert turned in his saddle resting his hand on its cannel. He looked at his thousand troops on horseback and knew they were as worn the same as he for they had followed him to the depths of the West March to raid whatever valuables they could lay to hand.

  They had been traveling for three days leaving his soldiers on foot to attack closer places such as Carlisle and that neighborhood.

  “Ye been in this area much?” asked Robert.

  “Have been, Milord,” said Durisdeer.

  “Know a good ford?”

  “‘Bout a half mile to the west it widens with a small bit of land mid way,” he answered then added. “River meanders a lot through here.”

  “Lead?”

  Durisdeer nodded and kicked his horse toward where he knew the crossing point to be.

  Soon the thousand knights and men-at-arms splashed across the Eden River then turned toward Appleby, and soon came to the edge of the town.

  Robert instructed his men as he moved through them to go in front. He drew his sword high indicating for his thousand to do the same.

  Within the town was heard a blood curdling scream followed by another shout, “Scotch! Scotch are a’raiden’! Run!!”

  Robert smiled. He liked panic. It was his ally when he was raiding. “Attack!!” he ordered then he war whooped and spurred his large warhorse. All of the men war whooped to a frightening roar.

  It took less than a minute to ride the main street from one end to another. The citizens fled as much as they had places to flee.

  His men who were spread along the street moved to either side killing and wounding people as them came to them with a weapon. The citizens had little to no organization to fight back and their defense was willy-nilly at best.

  Robert saw the blacksmith shop with several skittish horses tied to posts out front and knew there must be more close by.

  While Stewart was directing operations Robert got from his horse in front of the smithy.

  He tried the door and it was barred. He shook it harder and it remained fast.

  Robert could hear at least one person inside.

  “Come out!” he demanded.

  There was no sound from within.

  He went around to the side that backed up to the river and there were five more horses.

  Robert, who was not accustomed to being barred out, found a length of rope hanging on a branch of a tree close to the pinfold.

  He went back to the front and shouted through the door, “Come out or I’ll be settin’ yer smithy a’fire!”

  Two of Robert’s knights rode up.

  He tied the rope onto the latch of the door and handed the other end to one of the knights.

  “Pull,” he instructed.

  The one wrapped the rope end around the saddlebow and kicked his horse to pull at the door.

  The door creaked.

  “A’right! A’right!” said the inmate, “I be a’comin’ out!”

  The three could hear the bar being knocked from its holding arms.

  “Ye two finished yer raidin’?” asked Robert looking over the small town.

  “Hain’t much to raid, Milord,” answered the one who threw the rope to the ground. “Too many a’ready who like a’killin’.”

  An old man poked his head out of the door. “What you a’wantin’?” he asked as if he wasn’t well aware of the reasons for the intrusion.

  Money, yer life or yer horses,” said Robert measuredly.

  “Take the horses. Ain’t got no coin,” said the man.

  “Come from the doorway, old smith,” said Robert.

  “Can’t,” said the man.

  Robert turned to his knights. “Bring me fire,” he instructed.

  The outward swinging door slowly creaked open. The head of a ten year old lad looked out below the arm of the old man who held his sword as menacingly as he could manage the rusted blade.

  The screaming and hooting of the raid along the street continued.

  Robert was unimpressed. “Looks like a smith ought’a have a better kept sword. That’s what happens when ye don’t wipe the blood from it,” he said and he stepped forward and with his gloved hand gripped the reddish blade. The smith, knowing it was hopeless, released the shabby rotten leather handle.

  “Can ye make caltrops?” asked Robert.

  “Can, Milord,” admitted the man.

  The large eyes of the lad watched Robert’s every move.

  “Ye teach that to yer child?”

  “He knows nothin’ of caltrops, Milord.

  “Ye’ll be a’makin’ me thirty… and at yer end the lad will know.”

  “And ye’ll be a’lettin’ us live?” asked the old man, tears welling in his eyes.

  “I want to know where the horses from the fair are kept,” said Robert getting close to the man’s face.

  The man sputtered a bit not knowing how to answer.

  Robert glared and the smith knew he had best answer.

  “In a pinfold south,” he said pointing in the direction.

  Robert smiled. He turned to his knights. “Take twenty or so and bring back the horses.” He mimicked the point of the smith.

  “Ye’ll be a’needin’ mor’n twenty, Milord,” offered the smith.

  The old man could see his neighbors hieing up the steep embankment toward the castle.

  Robert turned to see what so fascinated the smith. “Be back in two days. Have the caltrops fixed in a gunny sack so they don’t poke the horse when they’re carried,” instructed the Earl as he climbed onto his destrier.

  The Stewart came to his liege lord.

  “Save this smithy… burn the rest,” ordered Robert. “Gi’e me half the men to go up the hill!”

  “Aye, Milord,” answered the noble.

  Within the half hour the town was ablaze and Robert and his men were sitting beyond arrow reach in from Caesar’s Tower.

  Fifty-five year old Baron Roger Clifford stood at the top of the four story keep and looked down on his would be attackers. He had archers at every crenellation and more to take their place if they were to fall. But seeing the Earl of Fife’s small force he was not overly concerned.

  The smoke from the burning village wafted uphill and, by intention, the castle was aware of the Scot’s potential for destruction.

  The villagers, who were escaping the burning buildings, realized they were trapped between the village and the castle so they hid as best they could in the sparse bush along the bluff.

  “I am Robert de Stewart, Earl of Fife, and we’ll burn this castle, Castle Brougham, Castle Pendragon, and Castle Brough to the ground!” shouted Robert up to the lord.

  “Shit! You ain’t a’gonn’a go all the way down to Pendragon and I know it!” crowed Clifford.

  “W
ill if ye don’t pay!” growled Robert. “Got men all o’er these parts a’reivin’ and killin’.”

  “We’re safe locked here!” replied Clifford snobbishly. “What do you want me to pay, Scotch?”

  “Two thousand pounds sterlin’ for a year of peace for all four of yer castles,” said Robert loudly.

  “You can’t mean that! What do I have worth two thousand pounds?”

  “Spent more than that just fixin’ Brough year last,” rationalized Robert.

  “You can’t know my spendin’,” argued Roger strongly.

  “Be takin’ half that in horse this day,” came back Robert changing the argument point.

  Clifford ignored Robert’s point and wanted to get in another point of his own.

  “I’ve heard tell stories of your great uncle Edward raidin’ through Eden Valleya’burnin’ and killin’ ere he went to Ireland and got his goddamned head lopped off!” shouted Clifford. “And my grandfather was killed by your grandfather at the Second Battle for Stirlin’, too… so you can pretty well figure I have a hate for the Bruces a-n-d the Stewarts!” He shook both fists to be easily seen by the men below and grit his teeth when he screamed those words into the air.

  Robert shook his head knowing he had pricked his pride. “Here for ancient history, I’m not. Just the coin or I’ll be a’killin’ e’ery citizen and burnin’ e’ery castle I can lay hand to within yer bailiwick!”

  Clifford’s seneschal of the garrison pointed toward the fair grounds. Raidin’ the horses, they truly are… not just talk!” he shouted in panic.

  Robert smiled upon hearing the words and tone. “We can be back at the first part of June when yer horse tradin’ is at the fullest.”

  Clifford paused to think… but he thought and anguished too long to suit Robert.

  “The price is three thousand pounds for one year now…” he announced and sarcastically adding, “Milord” to his say.

  “I’ve not got that amount here?” pleaded Clifford with his brows pushed up in the middle.

  “It stands at three thousand now… pray I don’t alter it to four thousand and that will be yer last offer for the safety of yer four castles,” barked Fife meaningfully.

  Clifford panicked. The man had not laid finger to his person yet his spine then quivered at the sound of his voice.

  “Three thousand, Milord?!” he asked halfheartedly.

  Robert smiled. “Send it out by yer seneschal,” he ordered. “I know ye won’t want to risk gettin’ taken’ for ransom!”

  Clifford glanced to the fair grounds at his beautiful, carefully managed, livestock being carried off by heathen and wished he had a better army. That, however, would cost more that three thousand to maintain for very long. “I’ll have it sacked up directly,” said Clifford. He and his seneschal left the battlements of the tower and went below to count out coin enough to please the Scottish earl.

  “If I ever get the chance I will personally cut that man’s head from his shoulders,” swore Clifford growling through every word.

  “Pay the coin, Milord,” advised the seneschal. “You’ll make more that that by far... come spring.”

  “Through the parsimonious fingers of the baron laird the coins were angrily thrown into six bags. The seneschal cinched the burlap bags up and tied them two by two by two.

  “You don’t need to make it easier for them,” gripped Clifford standing over the servant.

  The seneschal said nothing but the word that passed through his mind was, Idiot!

  He stood with both hands hanging two sacks each and they were heavy. “May we get three large men to do the carryin’, Milord?”

  Clifford grumped but from the floor he took the remaining two sacks in his own hands and led the way to the front gate of the tower house.

  A guard at the gate raised the heavy bar and Clifford slowly opened the gate. From across a goodly expanse of tall weeds stood Fife’s men who were waiting for their money to be delivered.

  Roger Clifford became faint hearted and went back behind the gates.

  “Change your mind, Milord?” asked the annoyed seneschal.

  Without a word Clifford handed his load to the gate guard and opened the gate to let his two men go into the open field to deliver gold and silver valued at about three thousand pounds sterling.

  “Your coin Milord,” said the seneschal politely.

  Fife nodded soberly.

  None of my doin’s, Milord,” he added as an odd apology for the conduct of his liege lord.

  “I understand,” said Robert letting the seneschal off the hook for Baron Clifford’s behavior.

  Three of Robert’s knights moved forward enough to indicate the sacks were to be handed over to them. As the delivery was made and strapped securely to the haunches of the knight’s destriers the group rode off.

  Clifford had returned to the tower top and as they left he cursed the Scots until they were out of sight then he went to his solar where his regularly beaten wife, Maude, was once more beaten. He then threw her onto the stone floor and raped her with every bit of anger he could muster while thinking of his lost gold.

  He then threw himself onto his bed and within a few minutes was snoring loudly.

  She laid spraddled, mostly naked, and motionless on the floor. Her body ached in familiar pain and she swore under her breath that she would butcher him in his sleep soon but she had been swearing that for years and she dreaded she would lose to faint heart yet again.

  August 13 - Late Morning

  The Bishopric of Durham

  The various sources of acrid smoke from the burning crofts of Durham mixed from blacks to whites became a muddled grey that matched the clouds overhead so that it appeared the whole world was engulfed in disaster.

  Raiding across the borders in both directions was an activity long practiced. Much of the northern part of England was once considered the southern lands of Scotland which had been absorbed into the English nation due to the almost constant border wars of the past.

  Earl James Douglas was moving his army northward through the countryside close to Hardbottle. Earl George was taking the westerly route in the same direction while his brother Earl John was sweeping the eastern side. They remained within sight of each other and kept their ever increasing menagerie of reived goods beside them to the middle.

  The various farmers and merchants who had paid attention to the obvious signs of the Scots bound for Durham took what they could and fled. Those who stayed to fight were usually killed. The bishopric folks were accustomed to Scottish raids every few years or so and the people generally had a contingency plan to stay far afield from the raiders.

  “We’re ‘bout to get more than we can drive,” said Earl George as he came aside Douglas.

  “I’m figurin’ the same,” said Douglas as he turned in his saddle keeping an eye all around. “Expected some from that garrison in Durham to be on us by now.”

  “Me too… we have spies in every direction and none have reported any skirmishers,” replied George keeping his own eye on the fairly level landscape.

  “We’ll go across the Wear after Hardbottle ere we get caught out here in the dark,” said Douglas.

  “We crossin’ the Tyne tonight?” asked George.

  “Nae. We’ll not get anywhere near there for at least another day,” replied James.

  “Good plunder this trip,” commented George.

  “The hope is to keep it all the way to Scotland,” came back the reply.

  It became a long day of reiving, and getting men, horses and plunder across the Wear River was an added wearisome task in itself.

  It was the last dregs of daylight as the Scottish warriors made camp hard to the western side of the river. Douglas had four bovine slaughtered and after placing pickets around the bivouacked area the men ate and slept better than they had since leaving Southdean Kirk and though it seemed like a lifetime had passed it had been a mere three days.

  August 13 - Late Morning

  Castl
e Brougham - West March

  The men Earl Robert Stewart sent afield, including his own contingent, raided crofts and took livestock and prisoners for ransom further down the Eden Valley.

  They were in agreement to meet back at Castle Brougham with their spoils on the thirteenth day of August. Sir William Douglas and his contingent of some eight hundred and fifty men-at-arms and foot soldiers were left in charge of that castle and surrounds.

  “Smell smoke?” said Robert Stewart of Durisdeer.

  Earl Robert drew rein and sniffed. “Comin’ from up valley,” he opined.

  Sir Robert agreed with a nod. “William’s doin’s, I reckon,” he said.

  “Hope it hain’t the castle,” said Robert grimacing a bit.

  “Best see what’s goin’ on ere ye weary,” said Durisdeer.

  Nevertheless Earl Robert did worry as he trotted a bit forward of the main body up the valley toward Brougham.

  Soon his concerns for the castle outweighed his concerns for his safety and he abruptly announced, “Goin’ ahead to see what’s happenin’. Ye stay with the plunder.”

  “Aye, Milord,” responded Durisdeer, “Be aware. Might be a trap.”

  He acknowledged the warning, waved to his squire, who was riding a few feet behind him, and the pair rode faster toward the source of the smoke.

  “‘Tis the castle a’right, Milord,” said the squire as they came within sight of Brougham.

  The whole of the keep had fire shooting out of the top as if it were one huge chimney. The land and serf hovels were afire.

  Back on a field of trampled onions sat three nicely upholstered heavy arm chairs with several Scottish knights there sitting horse and watching the burning.

  Fly ash was falling all around.

  The knights turned toward the sound of the two horses coming from behind. They wheeled to face the new comers when they recognized the man’s tabard of a red lion rampant over a checky bar on a field of yellow.