by Nigel Green
He looked wistfully after the departing Scots.
‘Why did you bring him?’ he gestured at John Fennell, the giant captain of archers. ‘You could have picked anyone.’
‘He doesn’t have the keenest mind, I know, but his men trust him, and when he heard about the raid he came to me and begged for the opportunity to join us. He pleaded with me – I couldn’t refuse him.’
Broughton nodded.
‘It was good of you to give him the chance when there are other more experienced leaders. Now Francis, we must move on; the days are long up here and we should be able to cover a good few miles before nightfall. Then perhaps tomorrow we could move out of the valley and continue our trail of destruction into the heart of Scotland.’
He moved back to his position at the rear of our small column, and I turned to Edward Franke.
‘Tell me, Edward, what have we achieved so far?’ I asked as we resumed our march.
He rummaged in his saddle bag and produced a rumpled piece of parchment.
‘Eight villages, twelve large farms and sixteen small ones destroyed.’ He turned to me. ‘Mind you, Francis, we won’t be able to keep going much longer.’
‘Why not?’
He consulted his parchment.
‘Allowing for the fact that we have been advancing from side to side for the past ten days, I believe we are now fifty miles from the border. At the moment, it takes the packhorses two to three days to bring us supplies. From today, we will be moving due north; each day we advance adds another day to the supply chain and we require thirty packhorses worth of supplies a day. You are extending your line of supply too far.’
I bit my lip irritably; any hope of a quick campaign, organised with minimal supplies, was proving futile. It had been impossible to live off the countryside, as I had hoped we might.
It would be infuriating to have to return now. Once we were through this valley, I was certain we would find ourselves in the heart of Scotland. Our raid had been highly successful so far. We had faced no opposition and, despite the lack of ale and wine, morale was high among the officers and men.
‘There are more supplies coming up tonight,’ I said. ‘We can go on a bit further, Edward. After all, when we return the supply chain will become shorter.’
He looked sceptical.
‘I suppose so, although we are low on most things and the supplies are late – they should have reached us yesterday.’
I felt he was being too cautious, but by the end of the next day, when the packhorses had still not arrived, I began to grow similarly concerned. I asked Thomas Broughton to take men to bring in the errant supplies.
‘I’ll do a sweep of the South, Francis, and watch out for any Scots. Mind you, I don’t suppose I’ll see any. All they seem to do is run away.’
I spent the day with Dick Middleton examining the horses while the men rested. My own presence in the inspection was pretty superfluous; his knowledge of horses exceeded that of any other man. He found little fault in the small, shaggy horses that comprised the Carlisle horse, but he was scathing about the condition of the palfreys that carried the archers and men-at-arms. Being large men, the archers required bigger mounts than those used by the Carlisle horse. He took the matter up with the giant captain of archers, John Fennell.
‘Your men care nothing for their mounts. They don’t look after them – look how many are missing shoes and those over there are lame. Do you know how many of these poor beasts have sores on their backs? No, of course you don’t.’
Captain Fennell was unmoved by this outburst. Like all archers, he viewed horses as a convenient way to move his men into battle and his priorities lay elsewhere with the numbers and types of arrows, dry strings and the direction of the wind, but he was sensitive to Dick’s passion and promised to look at the worst cases. If Master Middleton could advise on treatments, he would be grateful.
‘That lumbering ox of a man,’ Dick snapped, as we walked away. ‘He doesn’t care for his animals at all – I tell you Francis, it’s shameful how they are treated.’
‘You’ve always loved horses, Dick, haven’t you?’
‘I’m sorry Francis, I get excited, but yes I do love horses.’ He looked round at the grazing beasts. ‘Sometimes, I believe they are like friends.’
I pointed down the valley.
‘There’s Broughton. Let’s see what he’s found out.’
Thomas was grim-faced as the three of us sat down on the bank of a small stream that trickled down the valley.
‘It’s bad news, Francis. We’re in trouble.’
He had found the pack train – well, a number of dead horses that were members of it – midway between our current position and the old road. The escorts were dead.
‘All fifteen of them?’ asked Dick, surprised.
‘Mostly from arrow wounds,’ grunted Thomas. ‘But some were hacked with axes.’
We looked at each other in confusion. The Scots carried spears, short swords, daggers and occasionally short crossbows, but not axes.
‘Skiam must have joined the Scots.’
‘Or else he has recruited another band of followers,’ brooded Thomas. ‘But there’s worse – we have the Scots behind us now. I saw one large group coming up from the south-west, and there’s a large cloud of dust in the east.’
‘Numbers?’
‘I would say more than us.’
We sat in silence for a while.
‘The Scots are in too great numbers to be mere random patrols,’ Middleton said slowly.
Broughton narrowed his eyes.
‘My instincts tell me that this is not a coincidence,’ he growled.
He was right.
‘I think I’ve completely underestimated the Scots,’ I said bitterly. ‘Our initial raid must have caught them by surprise, but while we were destroying their farms and villages, they were systematically assembling their own forces behind us.’
‘They have fooled us altogether!’ Thomas burst out. ‘As we advanced, they gradually joined their forces together and just tempted us further and further into Scotland.’ He gave a mirthless chuckle. ‘That’s why they sent those horsemen in front of us – to lure us deeper into Scotland.’
‘With a larger force between us and the border, we’re cut off,’ Middleton said grimly. ‘God knows if Skiam and his band are working with the Scots, but either way it looks as if both our lines of supply and retreat are cut off. We’re trapped!’
I got up slowly, avoiding their gaze, and walked along by the stream, feeling the ever-increasing weight of failure. This was all my fault; I had been too reckless. It was I who had led this impetuous advance into enemy territory that had resulted in us being snared.
I paused to pick up a handful of pebbles. It was also my responsibility to get us out of this mess, I quietly reflected.
There was little hope of sending messengers back to Moresby to request reinforcements, as the Scots would intercept them. Even if, by some miracle, a messenger actually got through, if I were in Moresby’s position, I was not sure I would send reinforcements. Having taken effectively half the strength of the West March on this raid, the remainder was required to guard Carlisle and our English forts.
The second alternative I considered was to fight our way back to the border, which was only two or three days away. The problem with this lay in the mixed composition of the force I led, which would severely restrict the speed of our march. The issue, of course, was that to use their bows the archers had to dismount. Given the Scots would be attacking us tirelessly, most of the journey back to the border would have to be done on foot. With fresh supplies and sufficient arrows this might be feasible, but we had little food and only a finite number of arrows. On top of this, Dick Middleton’s horsemen were outnumbered by the Scots and would be destroyed over time.
I threw a series of stones in the stream. If somehow we could overcome the Scots, we would weaken their Western March considerably, since they must have assembled much of their
available manpower. Although, it rather looked like it would be our own West March that would be weakened, due to my disastrous handling of this raid.
I flinched and felt my cheek; it was bleeding. A stone that I had thrown had not fallen into the stream, but had hit a rock and broken in two. A shard of the stone had bounced back and struck me. I knelt down to wash the trickle of blood in the stream and suddenly had an epiphany. It was an extremely risky idea but it might just work. Even if it didn’t, at least half our force might survive. I walked back to where Broughton, Fennell and Middleton were sitting to seek their counsel.
I looked at the three of them.
‘So what do you think of the plan?’ I asked briskly.
Thomas rubbed his head.
‘It’s risky, Francis. Conventional military wisdom advises against dividing up your force when facing an enemy who outnumber you.’ He paused. ‘On the other hand, if it does work we could inflict a severe defeat on the Scots. I have no better plan.’
Dick shook his head.
‘Let’s be totally clear, Francis. You are saying that Broughton and I break out tonight with the Carlisle horse. In the darkness, we will try to elude the Scots, before they are fully joined up, and then get to the border. That’s possible if we move quickly and the Scots have not already joined all their forces together. Now, if we make it to the border, you want Sir Thomas to tell Sir Christopher Moresby to strip Carlisle of all its troops and send them to guard our fortresses.’
‘Which I will then take charge of,’ added Broughton, ‘while he garrisons Carlisle Castle with his friends and servants. That way the border is safe.’
‘Meanwhile, I bring up the whole of the Carlisle horse – there will be 700 or 800 of us – and attack the Scots, who will be attacking you and the archers in your fortified position,’ continued Middleton.
‘Yes. The way I see it, Dick, is that they expect us to split our force and try and save the Carlisle horse, but,’ – I felt my cheek gingerly – ‘what they will not expect is for you to bounce back with a large force, let alone so quickly.’
His face lit up.
‘They will get the surprise of their lives and, with any luck, we will outnumber them. I suspect, Francis, that if we can break out, they will chase us all the way to the border. It should take us two days to reach there, two days to muster the men and another two days to return. If we can get through, you will need to hold out for six days.’
‘No, Dick. If they follow you to the border it will take them two days and another two to return. We will only be under attack for two days. We can manage that easily enough.’
‘I’ll take the archers’ palfreys with me. We can use them as remounts; I’ll not leave them for the Scots. They deserve better than that.’
Dick and Broughton looked at each other.
‘It might work,’ said Thomas, ‘but only if we can break through the Scots tonight. We’ll leave you whatever rations there are. If we make it to the border, we can eat there. If we don’t, well it won’t matter. Francis, are you certain you will not come with us?’
I shook my head meditatively. It was my fault we were in this situation and it would encourage the archers if I remained. I suddenly had a thought; Broughton and Middleton had agreed to the plan, but courtesy demanded I seek the advice of the giant, albeit slow-witted, captain of archers, John Fennell.
I was not certain if he had been listening, as he seemed engrossed in cutting notches into a stick with a knife that seemed too small for his huge paw of a hand. I relayed my plan to him. When I was finished, he put his knife on the ground and looked at the hills around us.
‘So I will find a good defensive spot for us, my lord,’ he said slowly, ‘and then we’ll hold that ground until you and Master Middleton return to ambush the Scots.’
‘No, I will remain with you.’
A simple smile spread over his face.
‘That’s good, my lord. It will do everyone good to know that you’re here.’ He rose to his feet. ‘Let me go and look for a good place for us to defend.’
He started to move away, but I stopped him and gave him his little dagger.
‘Thank you, my lord. I would not have wanted to lose that. It’s my brother’s.’
‘Is he an archer too?’
‘No my lord, he was a soldier; killed last year.’
He paused as if he was going to add something, but changed his mind and began to move away. He stopped and turned back to look at Broughton and Middleton.
‘It’s a cunning plan that my lord has devised.’
We watched his huge frame amble off and Dick Middleton’s face creased in amusement.
‘Do you know, Thomas, he’s totally right and I’m completely wrong. I didn’t realise that my lord’s plan was a cunning, strategic device. I thought it was a plan born out of desperation to get us out of a rather nasty trap.’
Broughton smiled slowly.
‘Ah, but you are unaware of my lord’s strategic genius. Not many great generals would have carefully marched their forces deep into enemy territory to act as a decoy for the ambushing of their enemy. I doubt Julius Caesar would have thought of such a ruse.’
I bit my lip trying not to laugh as my two friends teased me mercilessly, but when Broughton referred to me as the Hannibal of the West March, and Dick swore that men in the future would talk of Alexander the Great and Lovell in the same breath, I burst out laughing and raised my hand to stop them.
‘You two will move out of here late in the afternoon. I agree, Dick; you should take all the horses, as we will not need them. If you leave us the rest of the rations, we can probably make them last four or five days.’
‘If we break through tonight,’ said Dick, ‘I will be back in six days at an outside guess. I think I know how we might get through without losing a man, but it’s a gamble. If we do get through, the Scots will pursue us to the border. After all, they can always come back for you afterwards.’
With Captain Fennell at my side, I talked through the plan, and the role and tasks of the archers and men-at-arms before the Carlisle horse left us. Otherwise, they would have been worried when they saw their comrades depart. There were no questions, which surprised me, as archers are generally very quick to express their views.
I asked Fennell about this afterwards. He frowned and played with his little knife.
‘There’s not much to ask, my lord. The fact that you’ve stayed here proves that you believe Master Middleton will come back to defeat the Scots.’
‘What you said was reassuring to them anyway,’ Edward Franke added. ‘It’s true that Scottish horsemen are ideal for fighting other horsemen or attacking marching troops, but against archers in a defensive position, they would be shot to pieces before they reached our lines.’
Captain Fennell shook his head.
‘The men trust you; that’s why there were no questions. Now, my brother, he was a great one for asking questions. Not that it helped him in the end, him leaving a widow and four children behind.’
‘If I can help them in anyway?’ I began. ‘I would…’
He looked down and smiled at me.
‘No, my lord, no more is necessary.’ Obviously, he was supporting the family himself. ‘But it is kind of you.’
He looked around the valley.
‘I need to find a hilltop for us, my lord; so if you don’t mind, I’ll start looking now.’
I watched him amble away. He appeared very helpful, as far as he was able, but I was still feeling very uneasy. Everyone remaining here seemed to have total confidence that Middleton would break through the Scots to the south of us and return in six days. Dick was a good leader, but the Scots outnumbered him and knew the ground intimately. They would know where to water their horses and lay ambushes and, of course, if he could not break through them, our group was going to be stranded here with dwindling rations. I began to feel sick as it hit me that, due to my impetuosity, I had probably condemned Middleton’s force to annihilation
at the hands of the Scots and the rest of my force to a lingering death on a lonely hilltop.
‘Five days, I estimate,’ Edward Franke interrupted my thoughts.
I looked at him blankly.
‘We have sufficient rations for five days, Francis, but when Dick Middleton returns, he might bring some with him. I suppose we could just go hungry until he gets us back to the Debateable Land, though. Mind you Francis, on the next raid I think we should try to establish a series of supply points as we advance. What we could do is…’
I clenched my hands and bit my tongue. There was not going to be a next raid; the chances were that Dick was not going to make it through the Scots, but I was going to have to keep the truth to myself.
‘Yes, of course.’
I interrupted his ideal plan for supplying a raiding force.
‘But Edward, this valley is not suitable as a defensive position; we need to be on top of one of the surrounding hills. Additionally, we need timber for palisades and wood for fires. The timber, wood and supplies have to be manhandled up the hills. We need to do all of this as quickly as possible; can you form the men into groups?’
‘I know what to do,’ he smiled at me. ‘Mind you, in two days Dick will be back at the border and the Scots will want to rest before they return here, so the earliest they will be back is in five days’ time, with Dick only a day behind them. Is it worth doing all this, Francis?’
I looked into his trusting blue eyes.
‘Yes. It will give the men something to do and stop them worrying.’
‘But no one is worried,’ he hastened to reassure me. ‘Captain Fennell has told the men about the defensive position we need to establish and has told them that we can slaughter the Scots while we sit there safely. Then when Middleton returns there won’t be so many for him to defeat.’
‘And they believed him?’
He furrowed his brow.
‘Oh yes, of course. I know that he isn’t at all clever, but to the archers he’s a natural leader. He can outshoot any of them and he’s a man of long sight, which is highly valuable. Apparently he can see things in the distance that any other man could not. And he’s not a man to argue with – somebody tried to quarrel with him last year and Fennell knocked him unconscious with one blow. The men believe in him, Francis… and in you.’