Games of Otterburn 1388

by Charles Randolph Bruce

  Adara screamed and Mungan hearing it returned him to his war mentality. He shoved his axe into the man’s chest and with one great blow of his sword had cut through the man’s chain mail and into his neck.

  The wound was not deep. The man was dazed but came back on Mungan again trying Mungan’s tactic of jamming the head of the battleaxe into his face. The strike was hard to parry and Mungan was hit on the nose-piece of his helm.

  Mungan stumbled back in shock and pain.

  Adara screamed again. That time Mungan did not hear her encouragement to fight back.

  The Englishman unwillingly went to his knees while holding his neck, blood oozing from between his desperate fingers trying to hold it in.

  Mungan watched from one knee as the yeoman died in front of him. He wondered if he would die from loss of blood. He looked at the other combatants on the field. Most of the Englishmen were on the ground. A few were not moving. Mungan figured them for already dead. Others were up on one elbow the other hand in the air as a sign of submission. The Scots were faring not much better as only two of them were still standing while the remainder laid about either dead or submitting.

  Mungan came to his feet.

  The Scots cheered again.

  The wall was eerily silent.

  Sir Ralph had gone dumb as well when he came to mid field. He raised his hand as a signal and awaiting men came from the gate bridge to collect their dead and wounded.

  “Yer Scots have won fair, sir,” said Ralph chivalrously while holding his anger for the poor losing.

  James Douglas bowed to indicate he accepted Sir Ralph’s concession. “And yer men fought admirably,” he answered and meant it.

  Mungan and the two other victors walked proudly in front of their fellow warriors with their swords and axes strongly fisted and waving.

  “Ye, sir, pray choose our next skirmish?” said Douglas graciously.

  “How about you… and me?” proposed Ralph.

  “Think of it, laddie… if one of us would kill the other in single combat we would have a war on our hands that I have no interest in fightin’,” explained Douglas in a quiet voice, “I ask that these games continue in the spirit I have come to your gate… for the honor of the tourney.”

  Ralph huffed and gritted his teeth inside of his helm but could not fight a man who refused to fight him. “I suppose I must be content, sir,” said Ralph as politely as he could manage the words from his quivering angry lips.

  “And yer choice of next event?” asked Douglas.

  “I will send a messenger!” he spoke as he curtly pulled the reins on his horse, wheeled and set spur for the gate.

  The English knights remained as the English and Scots men-at-arms’ broken bodies were taken from the field.

  The Scots were taken from the field and their wounds treated as best as people not medically trained could do.

  Mungan went to Adara, his jerkin was doused with an intermixture of his and others blood. He removed his helm and she took one look and said, “Broke yer nose, ye did.”

  He nodded he agreed. “Can ye fix it?” he asked knowing it was going to hurt like hell.

  “Afore this, I have,” she answered, “Want me to try?”

  “I do,” he said with a grimace.

  She sat him upright and placed her bare feet in the grass on either side of his body then bent over and fingered the broken nose bones. Putting two fingers in his nostrils and with other fingers and two thumbs holding the outside of his nose she made a deft snap. There was a quaking, tear enhanced, scowl from Mungan but it was done.

  She tore a patch or two of cloth from the bottom of her dress and ripped them some more and packed his nostrils tight.

  “That ought’a do it,” she commented calmly and sat beside him. It wasn’t long before she moaned a long, sad sounding sigh then came forth with a casual mention, “Couldn’t get the boots off none of them dead English, could ye?”

  He laid back in the grass and said not a word.

  She wriggled her toes in the air and giggled.

  He pretended to be asleep.

  She turned over on her belly and whispered in his ear through the blades of grass.

  His eyes sprang open wide.

  August 16 - Morning

  The Tower, London

  Anne awoke early and lay quietly.

  She could feel her husband’s nude warm body tucked tight to hers and she snuggled deeper into the coverings.

  “You are my favorite consort,” he said as he opened his eyes a bit.

  “And you are my favorite king,” she returned.

  The young couple kissed passionately and went under the coverlets where they were all alone in a world of warmth and opulence.

  He ran his hands over her well proportioned body and took her nipples one at a time into his mouth and gentle ran the tip of his tongue across the tops as he caressed her breasts each in turn then moved down her body. She heaved and sighed at his every sensual touch and move.

  He loved the idea of delighting her nakedness and was thereby pleasured himself.

  She ran her hands over his back as he slipped inside of her and pushed deep.

  She softly squealed with enchantment and grabbed his buttock pushing him in deeper.

  Their breaths came quicker as the sensations for both seemed to meld into a single entity pleasuring itself.

  The room and all of the surroundings faintly disappeared in a splendor of indescribable ecstasy.

  God was in his heaven and they too abided there.

  It was a while that they lay in each other’s arms bathed in ephemeral light.

  Within the half hour Richard got to his feet, went to the window and pulled the heavy drapes back on the tall stained glass window.

  She watched as the sunlight streamed through the clear portions of the window and across his beautiful lithe body. It was not athletic but to her it was a perfect body. She was in love and happy despite their overt royal troubles.

  He opened the drapes wider and the sun poured across the bed and her bare breasts.

  He turned back to look at his lover of seven years. He smiled and whispered, “I love you, Anne.”

  She smiled and replied, “I love you, Richard. You are the most kind and gentle king I have ever known or have been told about.

  He seemed pleased for beyond the walls of that one suite of rooms he was a pretender. He was twenty one years old and had been king for eleven of those years. He had put down a peasant’s revolt when first the crown was thrust upon his small head and that endeared him to his nobles. The peasants wanted to abolish serfdom, the nobles, who more or less owned the land, of course, did not want it abolished hence the revolt. The rebels burned buildings and yet the young king held them in check and strengthened his own political power.

  He hated politics. He hated war. Yet he was constantly embroiled in it all. His father was Edward III, a warrior king known as the ‘Black Prince’ with great honors at his back. Standing in his boots was all but impossible for young Richard to accomplish. He liked art and architecture. He liked the romance of living and not by what he could glean from it at the point of the sword. And yet he endured in his public alien world that was not of his making or of his true interest. He endured for he did not want to be known as the last Plantagenet king and a miserable failure at that.

  Being with Anne in those private moments was the sum total of his ability to hide away. He cherished every minute of their time together.

  “A day to remember,” she said.

  “I remember all my days with you, my love,” he said coming to the edge of her bed and sitting beside her. He looked deep into her eyes and prayed that his enemies would not take her away from him, too.

  Tears welled in his eyes for the fear of it. They had taken every counselor that was close to him and put them to the sword or the rope. They were all dead. His favor with his nobles had run its short course and had turned on him.

  “What are you thinking my love?” she
asked when she saw his mind adrift in a sea of troubles.

  “Radcot Bridge,” he answered quietly. “Radcot Bridge where Dear Robert lost his war for me.”

  “I have no trust for those five earls,” she admitted. “They should have not gone against you.”

  “No need why you should trust them,” he replied, “They are ambitious beyond the girth of their britches and yet they rein over me. Me, the king of all England!”

  She rubbed his arm and gave it a pat in understanding.

  He smiled a bit at her support for without it he would have no one on earth to plead his predicament before man or God. She was his best and last friend in the world.

  “What will you do, my love?” she asked quietly.

  He crawled back under the coverings with her. “I don’t know,” he admitted in almost a whisper.

  They were quiet for a while bathing in each others company but Richard was clearly bathing as well in his own dark thoughts of his pretend world others called reality.

  “I wanted to do something brave for my countrymen,” he said after a while.

  “Yes?” she encouraged.

  “The Scotch are raidin’ into Northumberland again,” he started, “I wanted to go there and kill them all or at least run them back to Scotland where they belong.”

  He sat up on one elbow to release his frustration. “I asked Henry for permission and he gave it with the proviso that Arundel escorted me.”

  “And?” she asked.

  “Arundel refused,” he said. “I had already sent a message to the Percys that I would be there.”

  “They wanted to publicly embarrass you,” she advised. “They draw you in and then spring the trap. You are the caught mouse… you are not the King of England but their king to do with what they will.”

  He suddenly jumped up in anger and cursed the heavens then he knew in his heart she was right. He calmed and quietly declared, “I’m not very good at realizin’ their traps. They are too full of cleverness and too full of deceit.”

  She hugged him tight knowing his political state was crushing him to literal death.

  “You will be King of England again soon, my love,” she said soothingly. “You must trust my words we will be king and queen of all England and its far flung realms sooner than you will know. Be aware my friend. Be aware my love for I speak the truth.”

  The pair was quiet for a long time more.

  They both were anxious about the knock on the door that was bound to come, generally sooner than later, that brought them back to their kind of hell.

  August 16 - Late Morning

  Newcastle-upon-Tyne

  “I believe I can almost hear what’s bein’ said at the top of the wall,” remarked James Douglas as he stood in the silage field outside West Gate. The remaining upstanding stalks of grain were blowing away from the wall and so were the words being carried.

  “Best speak softly, Milord,” warned George Dunbar pulling the top of the stem off the stalk and eating it.

  “A’likin’ grains, do ye?” said Douglas as a tease.

  George nodded with a slight smile. He knew he was being teased.

  On the top of the wall close to the right tower to the gate house the two Scots saw Sir Ralph’s head appear over the ramparts.

  “He’s reportin’ to Hotspur,” said George.

  Douglas agreed as they continued to watch.

  “They want us to pick the next event,” relayed Ralph.

  “Next?...Event?” said Hotspur.

  “My reaction as well, brother,”

  “What’re we fixed to do?” asked Ogle.

  “Why don’t we just pour out there and kill them all?” suggested Matthew Redman.

  “That’s exactly what they want,” said Sir Henry… “That’s why they came here to trick us out so that the greater part of the Scotch will come from the wood or somewhere and the tide will be turned.

  “They do seem to want us to be taunted out mighty bad,” opined Ralph. “But I’d like to try anyway!”

  “Remember, brother. They want us to make that try.”

  “What about an event… We could trick them with a feigned event,” said Redman.

  “You ain’t got the brains of a drop of piss, Redman!” growled Henry shaking his finger in the man’s face.

  Redman was affronted. He knew better than to pick an open fight and so backed away from the close knot.

  Henry glared at Redman and glad he had blown up thinking he would not have to listen to Redman any more. At least that was what he hoped.

  “Where’s that Scotch spy we caught yesterday lurkin’ here’bouts?” asked Henry curling his mouth up in a delighted snarl.

  “Got him in the goal,” said Sir Ralph Eure.

  “Still alive?” asked Henry.

  “Ne’er told us nothin’,” said Eure.

  “Fetch him!” ordered Henry coldly.

  “You’re not plannin’ anything foolish, are you?” questioned Robert Ogle.

  “Plannin’ an event for our Scotch visitors,” said Henry holding to his snarled expression.

  Sheriff Ralph Eure left the wall walk for the gaol.

  “And for that do I weary, Milord,” replied Ogle, unmindfully pulling at his grey chin beard.

  “Weary not old friend,” returned Henry, “‘Tis my responsibility and it won’t hurt you in the least.”

  Ogle was old enough to know when trouble was brewing and to his mind Henry Percy was about to make the second mistake of the last moments. He turned to Governor Matthew Redman who was sulking against the wall whose eyes were fixed on Hotspur and hate was jabbing out like invisible spears of death.

  “You shall see how those Scotch get riled at my event,” said Henry to Robert Ogle. “I will not lose twice to these whoresons!

  Adara loosed the buckle on Mungan’s trews.

  The giant was confused with feelings. His nose surely hurt like he imagined hell must be and yet Adara’s cool hand on his pillicock felt better than he had ever had it feel before.

  Her hand she replaced with her mouth and he could be in heaven already for all he knew.

  He laid back in the shadows of the trees. It was only the two of them as he seemed to explode in a great spate of pleasure. She came up with a mouthful of seaman and barely got it spit on his belly shirt when she started to giggle and laugh enthusiastically.

  He was breathing hard.

  “Ye’ll not be a’thinkin’ ‘bout yer nose for a wee while now!” she cried with delight.

  “Not be,” agreed Mungan still out of breath.

  “Now, ye’ll be a’killin’ me an English for his boots?” she said showing a sweet smile.

  “When I find one with boots to fit yer feet,” agreed Mungan.

  She squealed again delighted and kissed him on the mouth.

  He thought her kiss tasted odd but he liked it all the same.

  “Was goin’ to get yer boots anyway,” admitted Mungan.

  Adara shrugged and laid supine beside Mungan. “Perhaps,” she said “but maybe now… sooner.”

  On the wall young Simon the spy for the Scots was dragged up the stone steps by the rope around his neck.

  “Bring him to the wall!” shouted Hotspur. “Been a’waitin’ for you, spy!”

  Douglas watched and listened and knew it was theater for him.

  Henry pushed the lad’s head betwixt the spaces in the battlements.

  “You hearin’ me Douglas?!” he shouted down.

  “I hear ye, Hotspur,” replied James flatly. “I don’t know the lad.”

  George moved a step or two closer to Douglas. “He’s my spy,” said George. “Sent him out three days back.”

  James turned toward George, “Yer spy?”

  “Aye,” he admitted.

  “They’ve got some devilment afoot,” said James Douglas.

  “I fear they’ve made him talk,” said George.

  “Did he know our disposition in the field?” asked Douglas pulling on the re
ins of his destrier.

  “He knew,” said George.

  “You hearin’ me Douglas?!” again shouted Hotspur.

  “I said the lad’s not mine!” back shouted Douglas.

  “His name is Simon of Dunbar,” said Hotspur continuing the taunt.

  “He tell ye that?” asked Douglas stalling for an opening to save Simon.

  “He told us plenty!” said Hotspur. “We know you’re just the van.”

  “I will pay a ransom of fifty pounds stirlin’ for the lad,” offered Douglas.

  “Worth that to ye, is he?” goaded Henry more.

  “Sixty?” said Douglas.

  “I would advise you to take the money, Milord,” said Ogle strongly.

  Simon was battered as could be easily seen from the ground.

  “Lost his way as we were goin’ south,” lied Douglas. “He knows nothin’, Lord Percy.”

  Henry’s cunning smile returned in all its glory. He felt his event was working well.

  “The great Hotspur goin’ to kill a lad?” back taunted Douglas.

  “Set the boy on the wall,” ordered Hotspur to his men.

  Simon was picked up by two burly wall guards. His body ached from the torture. His head wobbled so he could not keep it properly upright though he wanted to dearly. He was set on the wall, his feet dangling over the moat below.

  “Still got the rope around his neck, James,” said George.

  “They aim to hang him,” replied Douglas, “and I don’t know how to stop them”

  With that no more than out of Douglas’ mouth, Hotspur pushed hard on Simon’s back and the lad went flinging into the air. He jerked hard when he reached the end of the pay out and slapped hard against the stone wall.

  There was a moment of complete silence. Nobody believed Sir Henry Percy would dare hang the lad under such circumstances. But he certainly did.

  All of the assembled Scots set up a roar of protest that Robert Ogle then knew he was woefully right on his second prediction. A glance at Redman portended another.

  “There’s our event!?” shouted Hotspur and without waiting for another word stormed off the wall walk with Ralph quick at his heels.