Games of Otterburn 1388

by Charles Randolph Bruce

  August 18 - Morning

  Carlisle Countryside

  There was a small village within the glen that provided various services for folk across the valley floor and beyond. Their housing was rough made of wattle and daub with thatch for a roof, shuttered windows and dirt floors.

  At the piggery on the far eastern side and downstream on the small burn there lived a lad who kept the swine for the village flesh hewers. They serviced the local folk not able to have ‘on the hoof’ meat sources for themselves. Their shop was in the village so the smell was not so strong making the buying of meat more palatable.

  “Lord of the manor wants a pig,” said the fourteen year old ruffian.

  The piggery lad named Gilly looked up from his duties and saw the ruffian and his younger brother by two years who was learning the family’s ruffian trade first hand.

  “Hain’t got a pig belongin’ to yer lord!” said Gilly strongly.

  “But you got a’plenty pigs,” sneered the ruffian.

  “My master would beat me good if I came up short on pigs,” argued Gilly, “so if yer lord wants one then ye can see my master in the village.”

  “We’ll just be a’takin’ what we want,” bragged the ruffian as he brought a length of rope from a pocket in his britches and started to tie it around the neck of the closest pig.

  Gilly, standing ankle deep in the mire and certainly not wanting to lose one of his master’s pigs dipped his arms deep in the sludge and came quickly to the rescue of the wailing pig. He grabbed the much larger ruffian around his neck smearing the pig-wallowed mud on his face and then hung all of his weight tight to his neck as he jabbed his well mudded fingers up his nostrils. When the pair reached the ground the ruffian had changed his mind about extorting the pig.

  Mind change or not Gilly then had the advantage and was not about to let his opponent off so easily. He flung the preoccupied lad into the middle of the squealing pigs.

  The ruffian came up crying like a baby.

  Gilly then turned his attention to his younger brother who was working his way to the far side of the loose fencing and grabbed him by his britches’ leg and pulled him around.

  “Yer turn!” was all he said before the apprentice brother got taught the same lesson as the ruffian. He came up crying as well.

  “Ye’uns get from here!” demanded Gilly with his muddy fists laid aside his rag clothed hips.

  The two boys from the lord’s manor cried more as they slogged their way to higher ground on the far side of the wallow hole and over the fence where the ruffian was far enough away to shake his fist and yell back to Gilly, “You’ll be sorry, you Scotch bastard!”

  Gilly stood his ground until he heard a horse snort behind him. He turned to see the biggest man he had ever seen riding the biggest horse he had ever seen.

  Gilly clinched his fists as if he were ready to take on the dark complected giant.

  “Goodly whippin’ ye gave,” said Archibald as he sallied to the fence.

  “Come to steal my pigs, they did,” growled the lithe and dirty youngster. “What is it ye’re a’wantin’?”

  “Come to steal yer pigs, we have,” said Archibald calmly then added, “Where ye from?”

  “Don’t rightly know,” answered Gilly figuring he was not going to be able to use the same techniques on the giant that he had on the lord’s ruffians.

  “Speak like yer a Scot,” said the earl.

  “That the same as a ‘Scotch bastard’?” he replied, his eyes growing larger as he saw beyond Archibald to William leading the whole contingent filtering from the tree line and splashing across the burn.

  Gilly was speechless for a moment.

  “I’ll get bad beat or more likely skint alive if ye steal these pigs, Milord,” he said trying to maintain his tough edge while keeping his eyes focused on the army of merging men.

  “Ye know where yer from?” pushed Archibald.

  “Uh…” he stammered… “some said Gallway.”

  “Ye carried off in a raid?”

  “Don’t be knowin’,” replied the muddy lad.

  “Family ye got?”

  “Nae family. I live here. Me and the pigs,” came back Gilly breaking into a prideful smile while still keeping his eyes roving across the field of warriors.

  “How ‘bout ye go back to Gallway with us?” He intentionally mispronounced the place name.

  “Ye ken where Gallway is?”

  “I do,” said Archibald, “and ye won’t get skint alive for the stealin’ of the pigs either.”

  Gilly ruminated on the proposal for a quick moment then said, “A’right. “What’s first to do?”

  “Tell me where those lads ye ran off are from?” he asked getting from his horse and leaning his hands on the top rail of the fence.

  “Up that wee burn yon,” he said pointing to the creek Archibald had crossed to get to the fence side. “It’s a big stone house of a famous knight and he’s lord of these parts and makes all his folks terrible sad when he comes a’callin’.”

  “Didn’t seem to scare ye any,” said William riding up to the fence beside Archibald.

  Gilly shrugged indicating he had no answer.

  Archibald got back in his saddle.

  “First thing I want ye to do is tie these pigs by their necks for walkin’,” explained Archibald motioning to a near knight to pass the lad the length of coiled rope hanging from his saddlebow. “We’ll be back directly to get ye and the pigs... after ye run them in the burn for a washin’.”

  “Ye’ll need to talk to the flesh hewers about my leavin’. They said I was their property and was not allowed to run off,” mentioned Gilly.

  “Don’t ye weary none at all,” answered Archibald. “I will surely be a’talkin’ to them ‘bout ye and ‘bout our supper tonight.”

  “We eatin’ pig?” asked Gilly smiling at the possibility. “I heard pigs taste better than they smell!”

  “Don’t forget to bring the shoats along,” advised Archibald as his band of warriors bypassed the piggery and sifted through the second narrow copse that isolated the piggery from the commercial village. “They’re the best tastin’.”

  Archibald and William followed after the horsed men.

  “Get a sharp knife from the hewers, Milord,” he cried out after them as they worked their way into the trees.

  As the last of the contingent passed the ruffian and his brother, who were still very much muddied despite their rolling in the grass, stood from behind the bush where they were spying on the happenings at the piggery. “They’re Scotch varlets!” he said in a low pitched but excited voice. “We gotta tell the lord!”

  Gilly laid the coil of rope on a post, crossed the fence, waded into the stream then laid as deep as he could in the cool water, which was hardly over his belly, and watched the globs of piggery waste wash off his ragged clothes and drift down stream.

  In the village, the knights and men-at-arms quietly spread throughout so that the population did not realize they had been infiltrated by their enemy until it was too late to run.

  Archibald saw the hanging sign with a crudely drawn pig’s head on it and stopped his horse there. “We’ll be takin’ yer piggery lad!” shouted the earl toward the inner shop.

  A man’s head looked out of the open door. Glanced up and down the dirt path in front of his shop and jerked his head back inside.

  “Ye’ll be a’fire if ye don’t come out!” Archibald threatened.

  Presently two men appeared with meat cleavers held close to their britches and stood behind the freestanding table from where they sold their wares. Flies were thick on the surfaces of the unwashed table and they swished their hands to get the insects from their faces. “What you a’wantin’?”

  “We’re takin’ yer piggery lad.”

  “Take as you will. Boy ain’t no good for nothin’, anyway,” snarled the butcher.

  “Takin’ yer pigs, too,” pushed Archibald who could see their anger working beneath their bea
rds but they remained stalwart. “‘Ppeared to be Scottish pigs to me.”

  “English pigs, they all are!” growled the older of the two butchers.

  “Yer not a’gonna like it when the lord hears about yer stealin’ ways,” growled the butcher.

  Archibald ignored the inferred threat saying instead, “Two hundred pounds sterlin’ in gold and silver collected up here and now or we’ll burn yer village.”

  “We ain’t got such…”

  The hewer was cut short by Archibald raising his large dagger blade to his lips. “Nae more talk! Get ye busy or suffer yer death!”

  “Get a gunnysack,” groused the older man hitting the younger in his ribs with a quick angry elbow.

  The younger winced but obediently ran inside to get an empty gunnysack and return.

  “Get on with it,” demanded Archibald. “We’ll be right with ye all the way!”

  To the delight of the flies, the pair grudgingly dropped their blood and meat bespeckled cleavers on the table.

  They trudged to every business and house in the village collecting what they hoped would be enough to keep them from the blade and flames. Two hundred was a good sum of ransom money from such a small place but it would cost more if they had to rebuild and they knew it. They made their contributions.

  Then, there was two short blasts two times on a hunter’s horn from the other side of the village and every warrior knew to hie for the horn sound knowing that danger was imminent.

  “Give me the sack!” demanded Archibald roughly.

  The older man did not hesitate to hand up the hefty gunnysack to the dark fearsome appearing giant adding an odd question for the circumstances, “Ye a’payin’ us for the pigs?”

  Archibald was angered by the very query and kicked him with his booted foot hard in the face knocking him to the ground.

  “You’ve killed my father!” cried out the younger man falling on his knees beside the sprawled man.

  “Hain’t kilt him,” growled Archibald then added as he set hard spurs to his destrier, “Ye’d of been better off if I had!”

  When Archibald reached the place in front of the flesh hewers he saw his gathering contingent battling against a contingent of English knights and men-at-arms who had come upon them hurriedly and had taken full advantage of the Scot’s scattered disposition.

  Archibald saw William fighting toward the midpoint where the English were coming to the Scots. They were hampered by the narrowness of the distance the houses were from one another forcing a squeezed front from which to fight. He got the attention of some of the near knights and signaled for them to follow him. He swung between the narrows of the houses and rounded them to flank the knot of fighters.

  Seems Sir Philip Ragland, liege lord of the immediate district had exactly the same plan so the two groups of fighters met at the backs of the tightly fit buildings and one group was just as surprised as the other.

  With his sword Archibald went straight for the banner knight with vengeance in his heart. Sir Philip saw the Earl coming and knew in an instant he had picked the wrong fight but pride would not allow him to withdraw.

  The wild swinging blade of Archibald was difficult to miss and Sir Philip who, anticipating the swing, nearly went off his horse ducking the fast moving blade. He hardly sat straight in his saddle again before Archibald took another slice at an angle anticipating the dodging movement.

  Philip laid low on the other side at that stroke but he knew he had to extricate himself from the fray and slid all the way off the saddle, over the rump of his tightly encumbered destrier and on to the ground leaving his horse as an interfering blockage while he made his cowardly escape.

  Archibald’s anger exploded and as he watched the knight flee through the impenetrable fighting horsemen. He swore the poltroon would pay a great ransom to get his life back.

  Sir Philip took a free roaming horse and hied for the safety of his stone manor house.

  The loss of their leader bore down hard on the still fighting men. The rear ranks who first saw Philip leave were the first to follow him. The mid ranks followed them while the ones closest in were damned to be beaten or given to surrender.

  The minor knights who could pay ransom were taken prisoner. Archibald insisted they pay immediately. Trusted squires were dispatched to various points to the homes of the knights to fetch gold for their liege lords and once the ransom was paid to William the knights and their squires and men were released sans weapons, armor or mounts.

  Archibald took a portion of his men and went north about three miles where Sir Philip’s stone manor stood. With no more than twenty men-at-arms and his domestic staff to defend the home the knight spoke to Archibald through an arrow slit in the wooden shutter saying, “I yield!”

  “Come out so I can see yer hands,” ordered Archibald.

  The mounted Scots waited for Philip to emerge.

  Philip did not appear.

  Archibald sent four men into the sally port to hack the wooden gates down.

  Archibald could hear sobs between the axe blows.

  Finally the men got enough of a hole in the iron bound gate to pull the bar from the door and go in where they found Philip in a sad state. They picked him from the floor where he sat surrounded by his household servants whom none would lift a finger on his behalf.

  The knight, with one of Archibald’s men at each armpit, staggered from the sally port without his armor but having only his sword girding his waist over britches and boots.

  “Ye got a shirt?” asked Archibald not wanting a valuable ransom to get sick and die on him.

  A young woman of no more than fifteen came from the house carrying his shirt and jerkin in her arms. Her face was red and wet with tears and she kept choking back more as she came to the drunk lord and handed him his remaining clothes exposing her bare chest which was covered with fresh shallow slashes oozing with blood.

  The servants came from the house and stood to watch.

  “Ye sure got drunk and a woman fast,” judged Archibald as he swung off his destrier and stood in front of the gloomy sot.

  “What business is that of yours?!” growled the knight turned belligerent.

  Archibald slapped him hard across the face for what he knew he had done to the young woman.

  Philip tasted blood in his mouth and nose and lost his temporary hostility.

  “Don’t be a’hurtin’ him, dear lord,” she begged going to her knees.

  The earl could not understand her loyalty. “He do this to ye?” he asked pointing to her bare and bleeding breasts.

  “Aye, he did that… and more,” she grudgingly admitted.

  Suspecting she was a Scot the same as the piggery lad he asked, “Ye want to come with us?”

  “This is my home, Milord,” she said glancing back at the house.

  “Ye’ll not be livin’ here nae more,” advised Archibald.

  “Nae sir?”

  “Burnt, ‘twill be,” he replied.

  Sir Philip’s eyes were bleary but they sobered some when he heard his house was to be put to the fire. “How durst you?” he yelped but the emotion was too much for his soured belly and he vomited on the ground.

  “Get the sword off him ere he soils it,” ordered Archibald to which a near standing knight did his lord’s bid.

  His men came from the manor house and threw valuable plunder on the ground in front of the contingent.

  “That all?” asked Archibald.

  “Most, Milord,” answered one as he returned to the house for a last bit.

  Seeing his material wealth so haphazardly spread about, Philip leaned his head on the ground weeping and puking more.

  “Empty the stable and byre,” ordered the earl.

  Archibald got close to the stinking errant knight and whispered in his ear.

  Philip’s eyes suddenly grew large as he heard the words in his ear. He let out a blood curdling scream saying, “I thought you wanted a ransom!?”

  “Not for all the gold
and silver in England,” said Archibald as he stood towering over the sniveling man. He spit on him and gave him a hard kick in the ribs.

  Philip groaned and whined and sobbed more.

  The young woman who had been the victim of his sadistic torture cried more and begged for his safety. That still mystified Archibald.

  The earl had two men drag the screaming knight back into the house and tie him to a post before they kicked the coals from the cook fire onto faggots and kindling scattered before it. The fire began to catch.

  The young woman stood at the front of the house and poured another round of tears.

  She could hear the blood curdling screams of Philip and smoke was seeping from the arrow slits in the shutters.

  William then drew rein at the manor with his portion of the contingent, his dead heroes and a string of English knights being held for ransom.

  Behind them came Gilly with twenty tethered pigs. The shoats following their mother’s teats.

  Someone brought a good wain from the byre with a handsome brace of horses pulling it.

  Archibald liked the idea and had the strewn plunder put into the wain.

  The young woman turned and saw Gilly with his pigs. She ran to him and hugged him tight. “Ye are still alive!” she cried out with joy.

  “Why would I not be?” said Gilly.

  “The lord said ye would be killed if I didn’t behave him!”

  “Who are ye?” asked Gilly completely mystified.

  “I am yer sister, James, don’t ye know me?” she asked.

  “I hain’t got family,” innocently replied Gilly.

  “Have now, again, James,” she said as she vehemently spit at the burning house then managed a stern smile on her lips as she realized her ordeal with a self-centered madman had come to an end.

  Archibald then understood as the last gasps and screams ceased and the fire licked from the window shutters and burst from the top of the house.

  Archibald released the bewildered servants to their own wanderings.

  The lord’s long-legged Scottish Deerhound that had remained back from the events was the only living thing that did not scatter from the burning manor.

  The ruffian and his younger brother who had been hiding in the byre loft watching the events slipped from their lair and ran fast across the fields just before the starter-fire was placed there. They had had a day that they would remember and be influenced by for the rest of their lives.