Games of Otterburn 1388

by Charles Randolph Bruce

  “Scotch at our gates this morn?” asked Lord Neville.

  “Still where they were,” replied William.

  A flagon of ale and two cups were placed on the table by a young page, him saying, “Milord.”

  Neville nodded.

  “One of my men thinks there’s dead on the south field, Milord.”

  “Dead?” queried Neville taking the flagon and pouring the cups to the brim.

  “Too dark when I left to tell anything ‘bout what’s out there,” came back William.

  “Maybe it’s Scotch sneakin’ up on us this morn?” Neville snickered.

  William obsequiously snickered, too and took a long gulp of his ale.

  “Want bacon and bread?” asked Neville.

  “‘Twould be well, Milord,” said William.

  Lord Neville raised his hand to motion his page to the table and when he arrived Neville pointed just enough to have the page say, “Milord,” and run to the kitchen to see to his master’s bid.

  Neville cut a bit of his pig off and pulling a hunk of the bread away from the loaf, wrapped the meat and took a good sized bite saying, “Figurin’ to go out on the Scotch today.”

  William was taken aback but tried to hide the feeling.

  His shudder was not lost on Neville. “What do you think?”

  “Milord,” was the first word from William’s mouth. It was the next words he was having trouble getting from his mind into the air.

  Neville’s eyebrow arched in the absence of words.

  “Milord,” started William again.

  “You have already given me your opinion on that part,” snidely put Neville. “What do you think about going after the Scotch again today?”

  “Milord… We got no warden of the garrison to lead the attack,” he answered clearly with the faint impression he was about to be told of an unwanted promotion.

  “I think that will not be a challenge,” said Neville.

  “You be a’leadin’ the men to the field today, Milord,” blurted William as a trencher of his food was placed before him by the attending page.

  “No.” said Neville coolly. “‘Twas thinkin’ more to makin’ you the new warden of the garrison, Sir William.”

  “Me!” he again blurted with feigned surprise.

  “I figure you could run those bastards back to where they belong,”

  William breathed hard. “You know there’s more than twice the Scotch out yonder than there was yesterday morn and the reason you got so far then was because you sneaked up on them!”

  Neville opened his surprised mouth so wide his half chewed bacon and bread fell back onto his trencher.

  William was saved from Ralph Neville’s manipulation only by a young messenger who came to his ear and gave him the message he had little thought he would receive.

  The messenger withdrew and William peered at his untouched breakfast and took a long deep breath.

  “Bad news?” asked Neville without really caring.

  “Our dead from yesterday are a’layin’ on the south field, Milord,” he glumly said as he stood from his bench and started to leave then turned back to pluck his loaf and bacon from the trencher, bowed a bit then sarcastically added “The garrison ain’t too awful ready to sally out again this morn… Milord.”

  He left the hall with no more to say.

  “Ye got some with gangrene, Milord,” advised Lucy when she came to Lord Archibald Douglas who was sitting his horse beside Lord Robert Stewart.

  She shaded her eyes to see up at the earl.

  “Can ye fix it?”

  “Not likely all but maybe save some, I can… God willin’,” she answered.

  “Do best ye can,” said Archibald. “I’ll be gone for a day or so. Tell Fife here of any need ye might have while I’m gone.”

  “Aye, Milord,” she said and looked at Earl Robert and then addressing him, “Milord.”

  Robert nodded back with no emotion.

  “Those English want their dead… don’t let them have them,” demanded Archibald.

  “Be a’stinkin’ ere long,” was Robert’s opinion.

  “Don’t care… hiein’ out directly, I am,” said Archibald.

  “I’ll keep good vigil on yer bloody dead,” said Robert. “If ye run into that Clifford bunch don’t be givin’ them any bargain of doubt.”

  “Bargain of doubt?” asked Archibald.

  “Don’t be a’trustin’ any of ‘em,” flew back Robert frowning.

  Archibald laughed. “I nae give a shit for ye not wantin’ to give Clifford some ransom money back.”

  Robert smiled broadly and rode off without another word.

  Archibald smiled slightly and shook his head in disbelief then wheeled his destrier toward the larger part of Carlisle and Cumberland where there were plenty of rich crofts and villages that were willing to pay handsomely to be left to their own peace.

  August 17 - Morning

  Newcastle-upon-Tyne

  Mungan eyes flickered a bit. He did not want to come from his misty world of jumbled dreamy images but somewhere deep his lust for waking life was fished from his languishing self and he realized he was asleep and forced his eyes open to the light.

  It was beginning to rain on his supine face.

  He sort of tried to snort. The cloth stuffed in his nose did not allow for air to pass. He then sucked in hard through his mouth for a lungful of fresh air. He briefly questioned if he was still alive.

  “Ye awake,” asked Adara sitting at his side.

  Mungan tried snorting again. He got to one elbow and looked around the field. “How long?” he grunted.

  “Since yesterday,” she said sounding perky.

  “Can’t breath,” he muttered fingering the cloth ribbons in his nose and thinking he had to piss.

  “Don’t be a’pullin’ those rags out,” she scolded.

  Seeing three horse-backed knights on the field he asked, “What’s fixin’ to happen?”

  “Those knights are readyin’ to fight a war,” she answered. “A’ready been one like this and the English won it.”

  The gates of the town walls opened and three English knights sallied out. Cheers from the fully populated wall filled the far air.

  Mungan forced himself to his knees. He seemed to be coming back a bit from his weariness.

  “There’s others all bone-weary and layin’ about, too,” mentioned Adara trying to make him feel better.

  “I ne’er was weary like this,” he groaned as he progressed to one knee on the ground and one akimbo knee in the air.

  “The Lord Douglas came by and asked if ye were dead and I told him ye weren’t,” said Adara casually.

  Mungan grunted as he got to his feet.

  “I think my Simon was washed away,” said Adara in about the same level of casualness. “I ne’er found him when I went to look in the moat water.”

  Mungan didn’t care about Simon and so wandered off without a word in response. The rain felt good on his still sleeping face. He was thinking to jump into the river and wash the blood from his torn clothes. Only the furry animal hide parts of his clothing were not torn in some manner or another and they were stinking.

  When he returned to Adara he looked out on the field of tourney. The six knights were working hard against each other with hammer and sword. Mungan could tell it was not going to last long.

  One of the young Scots fell from his horse and came down into the gathering mud.

  Then it was three against the two and that lasted about five more sword strikes and parries before the second Scot fell.

  The crowd from the wall cheered.

  The third Scottish knight’s blood ran red. His comrades on the muddy silage field drew their hand axes and rushed for the three English still mounted.

  Cheers from both sides were rousingly renewed as one of the Scots struck one of the knight’s destriers in the neck. The horse dropped to its knees and the English knight rolled onto the ground.

  The other t
wo English were certainly not expecting such a maneuver in a tourney and one was stunned just long enough to be on the losing end of a hefty sword stroke slung in anger across the side of his helm that unhorsed him.

  The third English knight’s horse reared up while he was still slinging his sword.

  One of the grounded Scottish knights was downed by a wild slash. Blood was easily seen gushing from the wound.

  “Want to stop the fight?” asked Earl George sitting his horse beside Douglas.

  James peered over to where Sir Ralph was towering in his stirrups with anxiety and excitement with four other high nobles who were monitoring the games.

  “I think we’re committed to playin’ this one to the hilt,” was George’s answer.

  George glanced at Ralph and understood.

  A second Scottish knight hooked the still mounted English knight in the chain mail with his sharp pointed bearded axe and hung on to the handle with all of his weight

  Another English knight grabbed him trying to separate him from the debilitating axe. He slipped in the mud and it only served to bring his comrade to the ground all the sooner.

  Then there were two Scottish knights and two English knights with five wandering horses upstanding. Dead were one Scot and one horse. Half dead was one English knight

  The rain became heavier to where the men on the wall could not see the field as the knights continued to fight.

  Adara curled under Mungan’s protective arm as they continued to watch as much as the rain would allow them to see. The blood and grime was washing from his clothes so he thought he would be able to avoid the river wash plan. His broken nose began to ache anew.

  Through the drenching rain Douglas saw Ralph kick spurs to his destrier and went toward the fighting knights.

  “See what’s afoot,” said Douglas.

  George kicked his own horse and went after Ralph.

  “What ye reckon’s happenin’?” asked Adara.

  “Only one’s that know are them that’s fightin’,” opined Mungan wiping the water from his eyes and beard.

  Douglas looked over to see the remaining monitoring English knights looking back at him to see what they were to do since they could not get instructional signals from Hotspur at the top of the wall.

  George returned in a moment. “Ralph wanted to stop the game as two of his were a’ready on the ground dead... I agreed.”

  “Too bad nobody saw that happen,” said Douglas as he watched the barely visible grayed silhouettes of two warrior knights dragging their dead comrade and leading five horses by the reins back through the still pouring rain to the Scottish side of the silage field. He wondered how long Hotspur was going to allow the charade to continue before he burst out of the gates with his whole army and swallow them up.

  Suddenly Sir Ralph appeared from the mist. His helm was off showing his angry thin-bearded face wrapped in his chain mail coif and slinging rain water in every direction. “Now will you meet me on this field in single combat!!?” he screamed.

  Douglas had him just about where he wanted and said calmly, “Send yer brother. I’ll fight him.”

  Ralph went livid and he shook all over. “I am the one throwing the gauntlet to you… Not My Brother!!” Water sprayed from his lips as he ejected the words from his mouth.

  “We are leaving in the morn,” advised Douglas, “Please relay to ‘Hotspur’ our gratitude for the games. It has been… gratifying… but, personally disappointing that he refused to pick up my gauntlet!”

  Douglas started his destrier away.

  “He has not refused!” spat Ralph.

  Douglas reined and wheeled, still cold and calm. “Aye,” he said, “Ye are rightly so. Hain’t presented it to yer liege lord brother as yet, have ye?”

  Ralph could not have been more angry. He had gained no respected from Douglas who refused to fight him.

  Before Ralph made a deadly error he jerked his horse’s head about and kicked the blood from its ribs as he hied for the West Gate sliding his horse’s hooves in the mud all the way.

  His nobles, aware of the slippery mud, followed at a gentler gait.

  Douglas heard the hoof strikes going across the drawbridge. He turned to again leave.

  “Reckon ye’ll get yer fight?” asked George riding along side of Douglas.

  “Pride’ll bring him out,” answered Douglas.

  The cheering had ceased.

  The rain was letting up a bit.

  Douglas was smiling to himself.

  Mungan’s nose was still smarting but the old dried blood had been washed into the ground.

  Adara wondered about the boots the English knights had been wearing as she delighted in wriggling her bare toes in the wet and trampled silage.

  August 17 - Early Afternoon

  Blakeman’s Law and Otterburn

  Four days past since Alexander Ramsey had arrived at Blakeman’s Law with his small contingent prepared to build an intermediate fortification to be used in the orderly withdrawal of the plunder and men from England back to Scotland.

  “‘Ppears to be a fort of some sort,” said the chief burgess of Otterburn standing on Fawdon Hill in the same footfalls as when Old Mary pointed out the sudden appearance of the Scots to him. With him were five other town burgesses crowded together and peering from the gentle slope.

  “Reckon we now know their intent,” said the first burgess.

  “Fixin’ for a battle of some sort,” opined another.

  “Reckon they might be set on takin’ over the whole of the region like has been tried a’fore,” said a third.

  “We’ll call a town meeting,” said the chief.

  “What for?” said the second, “Just scare them all, it will.”

  “Every livin’ soul in town a’ready knows about them bein’ here,” chimed in a fourth. “Hell, there’s been a’plenty up here to take their own look!”

  “Scotch ain’t a’botherin’ us none,” put in the sixth. “I say let it alone… ‘tain’t no truck of ours. Good mile from our town!”

  “Callin’ a town meetin’, I am, --Like it or not,” said the chief. “They appear to be too damned comfortable layin’ about on Blakeman’s Law!”

  “Shush your stupid yappin’ mouth!” said the fifth who was the most frightened of the seven.

  “Say it, I will, as loud as I want,” barked the chief.

  “Seems they’re just a’waitin’,” advised the second. “Question is, what they a’waitin’ on?”

  “Good question,” said the fifth.

  “We’ll put food in the tower house as a precaution,” said the chief burgess.

  “And I figure we might want to send out scouts to see who is on their way here, too,” said the second getting a shudder down his spine thinking about the prospects.

  “We a’ready know there were Scotch who went south a few days back so I reckon whoever it might be, will be comin’ from the south,” said the second.

  “Might be more a’comin’ from Scotland to join the ones we saw earlier,” worried the fifth.

  “A’right, we’ll send a scout north up the Redeswire and a scout south toward Newcastle,” decided the chief burgess waving his hands as if he was in the throes of his final decision. “Call a meetin’ for… soon… today. Meantime get a regular scout right here,” he pointed to the ground at his feet, “to watch them tricky Scotch,” he said then he walked through the group of five others and down the hill toward the town. The remaining burgesses closely followed their leader nattering arguments and opinions all the way.

  Ramsey and Halliburton had been the leading force of the building if the temporary structure that consisted of little more than a holding pen formed in the loop of the river and a brier and stick fence across the road and up on the hill to protect the plunder when Swinton brought it in.

  “Ye see the townsfolk on yonder hillock?” said Ramsey pointing across to Fawdon Hill.

  “I saw them,” said Halliburton, “Been comin’ regular. Differen
t ones. Curious, I reckon they are.”

  “Glad we sent that spy into town yesterday,” said Ramsey.

  “Strangers always get a good look over,” replied Halliburton. “He’ll not last long ere they smell him out.”

  “And kill him, I reckon,” answered Halliburton then asked. “Swinton still due here sometime today?”

  “Accordin’ to the scout as of early this morn,” replied Ramsey. “Not far away at all.”

  “We near Otterburn, now, Milord?” asked Sir Swinton’s young squire James.

  “Just passed Elsdon,” advised the knight. “Be there ere afternoon, I would reckon.”

  “What happens then?” asked the lad.

  “We’ll be meetin’ Sir Alexander Ramsey and holin’ up there ‘til Lord Douglas joins us… then on to Scotland… as planned.”

  “Why didn’t we meet at Elsdon, Milord?”

  “‘Twern’t the plan, that’s why, lad.”

  “Seems to be a right fancy plan if yer askin’ me.”

  Sir John sometimes wondered about his squire. He was curious to a fault and his social manners failed to be considered exemplary.

  The scout that was sent south toward Newcastle was certainly quick to return with his news. He rode hard into the town square, such as it was not much of a square shape but it had various vendor stalls and buildings along the street and at the end was the town hall where the burgesses were arguing over how best to protect themselves from the Scottish incursion. The scout went in the door of the hall and announced, “Scotch a’comin’ with a great herd of plundered animals!!”

  “From where?” asked the chief burgess as he leapt from his soft chair.

  “Saw them past Elsdon, Milord burgess,” said the winded young man. “Be here ere long!”

  The chief’s eyes opened wide as his mind reeled in complications.

  The other burgesses in the hall began to panic.

  “No time for a town meetin’ now!!” shrieked the fifth burgess.

  “Send runners to the fields to get the farmers… tell them to bring their families!

  “And weapons!” added the second burgess.

  “Spread the word to the folks to gather in the peel!” said the third.

  The scout moved quickly to avoid being crushed by the burgesses as they fled out of the hall to get to their homes to gather their wives, children and whatever valuables they might be able to carry.