Games of Otterburn 1388

by Charles Randolph Bruce

  “Aye, Milord,” said the north side spy anxious to have a meal.

  John walked to Douglas’ tent catching him in thought. “Umfraville’s amassed an army on our north side,” he said.

  James opened his eyes. “They a’comin’ this way?”

  “Camped for now,” said John. “So says our scout.”

  “How long do ye reckon it would take to get here?” asked Douglas.

  “Easily before dark if they started now,” answered John thoughtfully.

  “Can we get some men to build a barrier at the top of the hill and man it?”

  “I’ll have it done,” said John cheerfully. “I’m sendin’ our man back out to his lookout spot, too.”

  Douglas nodded he was pleased. Within his own mind he was glad it was too deep into the evening hours for any sensible person to start a battle. He thought Umfraville would be taking his army to Carlisle or else they would have attacked their position earlier.

  The shadows grew long with only a few low wispy fire red stratus clouds marring the otherwise clear western sky. The heat of the day was abating and the welcomed cooler breezes portended a comfortable night of rest on the hillside of Blakeman’s Law for the army of Earl James Douglas.

  August 19 - Late Afternoon

  Elsdon

  Hotspur’s horse blew out hard through his nostrils as he withdrew his nose from the narrow Elsdon Burn at the small village of Elsdon about two or so miles from the town of Otterburn. Horses and men had their heads in the water along the bank of the burn while others behind anxiously awaited their turn.

  The army had ridden hard for the better part of the day having had but a single morning meal that was far gone somewhere behind them as they traveled over the treacherous road fraught with marshlands, rocky stretches, water hazards and more. It was a kind of pathway through the wilds of Northumberland’s patchwork of pasture, farm, and wooded properties rarely punctuated by the appearance of even a diminutive village.

  Whatever foot soldiers Hotspur had taken along from Newcastle was a puny number at best and since they were coming by shank’s mare made them the furthest back in the long queue of stragglers.

  A fast riding man approached Hotspur. “My lord Percy,” addressed the man who was one of the out-riding archers sent ahead of the main contingent of Hotspur’s army. Their task was to kill the Scottish spies positioned along the road who had the responsibility of letting Douglas at Blakeman’s Law know of the oncoming English.

  “Realizing who addressed him he asked. “Did you kill them?”

  “We killed five,” said the assassin. “We don’t know if that was all or not, Milord.”

  “Did you see how they were arrayed in their camp?” asked Hotspur glancing at the angle of the sun.

  “Only that they’re about a mile beyond Otterburn and camped north of the road with a large herd of plunder below the road close to the river, Milord,” said the man.

  “But they’re bound to have widely placed pickets,” mused Hotspur aloud.

  “Bound to, Milord,” was the confirming reply.

  “I have another task for two of your swiftest riders,” said Hotspur.

  “At your service, Milord,” said the assassin easily, his horse dancing with excitement.

  “Sir Thomas Umfraville,” said Hotspur, “waits below Davyshiel in Otter Valley. He’s in the wood there but he’ll be found with camp fires a’burnin’!”

  “And your word, Milord?” questioned the rider.

  “Tell him we are attackin’ now!” said Hotspur with a strong conviction and pointing to the position of the setting sun, more to indicate his time schedule than something to pass along to Lord Thomas.

  “Aye, Milord,” he said then wheeled and raced up the burn gully to get another of his men to go with him to deliver the message to Lord Thomas.

  Hotspur thought for a moment then turned to his oldest squire, Thomas Waltham, “Gather the nobles here quickly!”

  “All, Milord?” asked Waltham.

  “All easiest to hand… I have no time for more!”

  Waltham wheeled his horse to do his master’s bid.

  Soon Henry Percy had a handful his leading nobles close. He was somewhat familiar with the area where the Scots were camped and was relying on that experience to best serve him.

  “Redman, I want you to stay on the road usin’ the trees for cover and keepin’ to the left. Try gettin’ behind their main force,” ordered Hotspur. “Take Robert Ogle and his men with you… You will be the van battle ahead of us on the road and the first to engage.”

  “They know we’re comin’?” asked Redman.

  “Don’t know for a fact,” spat Hotspur in quick words. “I know we’ve killed five of their spies.”

  “Are we to take prisoners?” asked Redman.

  “Only if they can be ransomed,” he replied curtly.

  “Kill the others?” asked Redman pushing for a clear definition.

  “As many as you can lay a blade to,” said Hotspur gruffly, his eyes narrowing as he grew suspicious of Redman’s loyalty intentions. Then he added, “I will lead the main battle to a different point. That should surprise and confuse them enough to give Redman a chance to work his way behind them.”

  “We’re straggled back for more than three miles… maybe more… Milord,” advised Sir Ralph Lumley, “I ain’t seen Eure since high sun.”

  Hotspur spoke, “Won’t all be able to get into the fight at once, anyway, so they can add to the fracas as they come to it. We have more men than they do so it should be an easy rout.” The last he said so he would avoid arguments from his nobles about the attack being launched in the last part of daylight.

  Sir Matthew Redman swung into the saddle of his horse and signaled to his portion of the men to follow. Robert Ogle returned to his well warmed saddle and signaled his men.

  “We’ll go along in a trot then when we see the Scotch we’ll take to a gallop,” instructed Redman.

  Robert nodded he understood and Redman dug his spurs a bit into his horse’s already sore rib flesh to get him going.

  There was the usual small contingent of squires and standard bearers that went before their lieges and bore the banners of Redman and Ogle so the hindmost could have an advanced indication as to what was happening in the front.

  August 19 - Late Afternoon

  Newcastle-upon-Tyne

  Skirlaw awoke from his nap wondering. He sat on the edge of his pallet and looked at Boynton. He blinked and asked, “You watchin’ me sleep?”

  “I wanted to be here for your awakenin’,” spoke the sheriff.

  “The bishop stood and looked around for a convenience. The sheriff, guessing his need, pointed to the crockery sitting on the floor beside the pallet.

  The bishop turned his back to the sitting Boynton and asked him over the obvious sounds, “Could you find me a supper?”

  Without a word the sheriff stood and left the chamber to see to it that he and the bishop were fed at least a simple meal of whatever was at the hands of the black friars.

  Soon Boynton returned to his chair in the chamber and said, “Sup will be along soon, Your Grace.”

  Within mere moments there was a knock on the door and in came four robed friars carrying cooked oats and loaf bread for each of the men. Two more behind them shuffled a small square table through the door and placed it in front of Skirlaw who was sitting on the edge of the bed.

  The six bowed politely and without a word backed from the room.

  Skirlaw motioned for Boynton to join him at the table so the sheriff pulled his chair up and placed his oats and bread down, sat and began to eat.

  “No sayin’ of the prayers, Thomas?” asked Skirlaw in a voice that seemed to Boynton a question asked straight from God. He sheepishly bowed his head and Walter Skirlaw said a prayer for both of them then they began to eat.

  “What shall we do, Your Grace?” asked Boynton at length.

  “About what?” asked Skirlaw.

  Are
we goin’ to Otterburn or not, Your Grace?”

  The bishop paused in mid lift of his spoon and looked directly at the sheriff.

  “Otterburn?”

  “Otterburn is where Sir Henry Percy has gone, Your Grace, I have it confirmed on good authority,” said Boynton fudging the facts a bit.

  “Otterburn, for sure?”

  “For sure, Your Grace,” answered Boynton.

  “My God in Heaven!” he exclaimed still holding his spoon in suspension. “We must go and help.”

  Boynton twisted off a piece of bread and pushed it into his mouth, “Tonight, Your Grace?” he questioned through his busy teeth.

  “At this very hour, dear sheriff,” he replied as he continued to chew his supper.

  “You mean… after we eat… right, Your Grace?”

  “Yes,” said Skirlaw, “Right after we eat… I mean.”

  August 19 - Before Sunset

  Blakeman’s Law

  With the permission of James Douglas, John Dunbar chose Davy Coleville, a Douglas’ squire, to ride to the crest of Fawdon Hill and keep a sharp eye on the road from Otterburn.

  Davy sat stoically downhill with his knees propped up and his interlaced fingers atop his knees and his chin atop the backs of his hands. The town and tower of Otterburn were somewhat to his right but the first instance of the road he could see beyond the trees was directly in front of him.

  At the moment he saw Matthew Redman’s banner trotting along the road he could not believe his eyes. Then upon seeing Redman in his armor he quickly stood and ran for his horse that was tethered to a clump of brush just over the backside of the crest.

  Davy grabbed the reins and swung to the back of his horse and kicked it hard forcing it to an immediate gallop. He had planned the exact trip in his mind in case he was needed to sound the alarm and he did not miss a step.

  When he came onto the roadway his voice was screaming, “Hotspur’s on us!! -- Hotspur’s on us!!”

  As he passed the servant’s tents John Swinton jumped to his feet with little more than his boots and surcoat cinched at the waist by his sword belt.

  Davy urged his horse up the hill where the knights and squires were camped blaring, “Hotspur’s on us!! Hotspur’s on us!! Wake! Wake! Wake!”

  Swinton was shouting orders to the men and lads in the lower camp sending his squire James, whom he place in charge of the smaller of the boys, to hide among the cattle and trees along the river bank. He further instructed James that if the skirmish went badly and the English came for the herd he was to get to the south side of the river and hide among the trees until they could make their way back to Scotland.

  The older boys and servants he instructed to hunker uphill behind the small bushes and if the enemy came by the road on horseback they were to run against them with their short swords, daggers or even sharpened wooden spears. Kill the horses and kill the men as they fell to the ground.

  Swinton stood tall and drew his sword to be ready. He did not once think to put on his armor that remained in his tent.

  Redman’s contingent rode past Otterburn Tower and the archers at the battlements recognized the English banners and cheered them onward and pointed them toward Blakeman’s Law.

  “How many!?” asked Douglas when Davy came to him.

  “Saw just the start of them comin’ out of the trees at a trot,” shouted the excited lad.

  “It’s a’right,” said Douglas in quick words. “Go ‘round the camp and see that all know then come back here!”

  “Aye, Milord,” said the squire and put spurs to his horse again.

  Douglas looked at the position of the sun and knew he was about to war with a madman who imagines he can have an easy victory before the sun sets.

  All across Blakeman’s Law men were girding for the expected onslaught.

  Mungan got his boots on and over his shirt he slung his quilted jerkin with the insignia of the Saint Andrew’s cross sewn onto his left chest. Adara nervously tied the fasteners down the front as he wrapped his waist twice around with his dagger and short sword belt.

  She held his chain mail coif high and wide as he bowed and slipped his head into it over his arming cap. She straightened it across his large shoulders.

  He adjusted the coif around his face. His beard always caught in the links and made him wince when it did.

  “Ye a’wantin’ for me to get yer horse?” asked Adara as she handed him his heavy long spear with the sharp pointed iron head.

  “No horse here,” he spat, “Where’s my new-won buckler?”

  She looked around and saw it at the back part of the shelter. Two wide steps and she had it within her grasp. She caught up his gauntlets that were laying close to where she stood.

  Adara slid the buckler over the big man’s left arm as he said to her, “Hie for the wood yon,” he raised his head to indicated the copse on the back side of the camp. “Stay hidden there ‘til I come for ye.”

  “I will,” she said with a smile then plucked his helm from the ground and held it as high as she could. He took it from her hands and put it on over his mail coif.

  She started to tie the dangling strings under his chin but he said, “Ne’er mind that,” as he shook his head, “Just ends up a’chokin’ me!”

  She jumped and put her arms around his neck. With her bare feet clearly off the ground she kissed him hard as close to where she thought his mouth would be within his bushy, tangle of beard and chain.

  He put her down easy then turned without another word, making his way across the confused field of activity to where Douglas was passing out verbal orders virtually in every direction.

  Adara was happy he had cared enough for her safety to tell her he would come for her. She gathered her few things in her large pouch, belted on her sword and obeyed ‘her man’s’ orders. She had never had a man like Mungan before and she liked it. As she ran toward the copse she prayed for his safety in battle. She was unaccustomed to prayer and so she prayed again that she had said the right words on her first prayer.

  Redman’s troops had sped up to a gallop as they saw in front of them what they thought was the main camp when in fact it was the servant’s camp site. With no movement of people they thought the Scots were fast asleep and they were delighted at the prospect of surprising them awake.

  Because of the partial wattle fence across the road in front of the camp and the obvious mire on the left side the horsemen were squeezed to a narrow entrance into the area. Their gallop quickly became a trot losing their attack momentum as they rounded the end of the wattle.

  As the first dozen or so men rode through the narrows the men and lads of Swinton’s group screamed their war cry and rushed against the English horses with their various weapons. To the best that could be said the advance van of Redman’s army was shocked they were attacked so strongly from the mix of manly and immature voices screaming at them.

  They were brought down to the dirt along with their horses. Redman’s banner and bearer skidded into the morass. Swinton jabbed the fallen riders on both sides of him working his large broadsword in a wide swath. Others of his band of servants jumped on more of the English that were downed and dispatched them without mercy. For most of the servants it was their first taste of bloody war to which they quickly adopted.

  Sir Matthew Redman came through the narrows to the camp and seeing his men being slaughtered started in on the campers with an angry vengeance.

  More English came to the fight there and the shouts and sword clashes heard by Douglas at the upper part of the hill alerted him to help.

  “Get Earl George to the servant’s camp!” he shouted to Davy Coleville who was still astride his horse carrying out James Douglas’ orders to the various parts of the field. “Tell him they’re comin’ in from the south end!”

  “Aye, Milord!” answered Davy quickly. He found George mustering his men and told him Douglas’ word.

  George had only about forty men-at-arms gathered amid field at that point and de
cided to send them under the command of Sir Alexander Ramsey with the instructions to analysis the situation and report back to him about the seriousness of the southern breach. He was not convinced Hotspur would attack the lowest ground and have to work his way up hill.

  Sir Thomas Erskins came to Douglas, “Got our contingent ‘bout mustered on the ridge!” he reported in clipped fashion.

  “Be there directly!” returned Douglas as his squire Simon Glendowyn followed the movements of his master’s legs in the attempt to strap on his shin and foot armor. With one leg covered and one leg not he was on the verge of panic for the fear of his lord’s safety.

  John Dunbar rushed his spearmen to the edge of the rough made fencing rigged between one tree trunk to another. They held their long spears across the barrier waiting for whomever approached toward that sector.

  The spy that John Dunbar had left watching the north Otterburn Valley rode up hard and drawing rein skidded his horse on at least three hooves beside his liege. He blurted out, “Fast ridin’ scout is a’goin’ toward those ones camped in the valley!”

  “Must be this bunch attackin’ us now that sent the rider, I reckon,” figured John as he walked along the line of his awaiting spearmen adjusting their position.

  “Aye, Milord,” agreed the rider. “Tellin’ them to attack us, I figure!”

  “How long will it be ere they get here?” asked John.

  “Before sundown for certain if they move right away,” opined the rider.

  “Get back and tell us when they’re aboard their horses,” ordered John. “That’ll give us a better time!”

  “Aye!” he clipped as he wheeled and headed back north to his higher position.

  John Dunbar quickly walked to where Douglas stood yet barking orders. His squires were still trying to arm their lord in more that his chest armor that they got the rivets fastened only half way and were considering that an accomplishment under the dire circumstances.

  “Thomas Umfraville probably got the order to move against us now,” said John.

  “How far ye say they were?”

  “May be hittin’ ‘bout sundown… or a little later, James,” batted back John.