Games of Otterburn 1388

by Charles Randolph Bruce

  George turned toward the voice and saw her coming fast on him. One of his archers turned toward her and drew this bow.

  “Hold yer shot,” said George sternly.

  One of the Englishmen in the wood was an archer and drew back his own bow in the blind hope of killing her before she could tell.

  The released barb was a fortunate flight for it clipped her left upper arm without sticking. The shock of the hit made her scream and the English archer thought she was killed. George got to her fast enough to hear the words, “Yon English in the wood mean ye harm, Milord,” then she went faint.

  Redman’s men spurred their horses and were clear of the wood within three strides of their horses.

  George cried out, “Comin’ to get us!! – This side! This side!!”

  Archers on the left side turned to retrain their missiles on the twenty or so English coming on strong.

  They released their arrows at the dark quick riders and loaded another in their bowstrings.

  The bowmen knew they were effective when they heard the screams of fallen men and the wild whinnies of their wounded horses as they thudded to the ground.

  “More a’comin’ from this side!” shouted William Lindsay.

  By her right arm George dragged Adara back to the barricade and saw the van force of Umfraville’s men riding hard for their position.

  The archers drew back their bowstrings and waited for the order that was quick to come. “Loose!”

  Barbs were released.

  Evidence of their effectiveness was heard in both directions. The remainder of Redman’s renegades scattered when they realized more than half of them were on the dark ground either dead or moaning out desperate prayers. Their gambit to take high level prisoners was at an end. Then George and his men could concentrate on the larger part of Umfraville’s contingent as they were bearing down on them at a full gallop with little sense of the terrain ahead.

  George was heated by the boisterous shouts of the, “Douglas!! – Douglas!!” down the hill from his position where he knew the main battle with James Douglas was taking place.

  The archers grabbed their remaining arrows from the ground and backed away allowing the two rows of spearmen to man the logs when the attackers came close in.

  The archers followed Sir Patrick of Dunbar, cousin to the earls, when he realized they had a certain advantage in the darkness. He placed the archers to the left flank of the aggressors and ordered them to shoot to kill as many men as they could clearly see silhouetted in the backlight of the rising moon.

  They were deadly with straight shots rather than lofted volleys even at moving targets. They knocked many poor warriors from their mounts before they reached the wall of spears George had working as a schiltrom.

  The barricade of logs thrown up quickly was not the ideal defense for horsed knights and men-at-arms but it did prove to be effective.

  “They can’t see a damned thing!” said George watching the shadows coming toward them.

  “We’re just as blind as they are,” commented William Lindsay holding up his sword in anticipation.

  “Not quite,” growled George, “I can see plenty are fallin’ from bein’ arrow shot.

  “Why in hell’s name did they decide to attack at night?” asked David Lindsay as he moved closer to the two commanders.

  “Who knows. Their choice… not ours,” back said George.

  “Here they come,” advised David as they heard the initial crush of horse flesh and bone suddenly hitting hard tree trunks they were not expecting.

  The riders were thrown over the impediment and the second line made up of men-at-arms quickly killed the stunned first riders.

  “Can we take these men as prisoners rather than kill them?” asked young David.

  “And who can watch them?” gainsaid William as a second line not aware of the fate of the first thin wave met their own death except for one English knight who drew short rein and wheeled his horse quickly to avoid hitting the barricade or the outward pointed spears. That man retreated to where Lord Thomas Umfraville sat his horse ordering his men to senseless death.

  “Milord,” started the knight, “We’re no good aboard our horses in this dark!”

  “So you say?” answered Lord Thomas.

  “Looks to me the van was swallowed up,” he explained. “We’ve got dead and dyin’ from here to the Scotch lines!”

  “Are you a coward, knight?” said Thomas snarling.

  “What I’m tellin’ you is true, Milord,” said the knight drawing his eyes narrow.

  Thomas was impressed but did not want to appear to be taking advice from the young knight so he said, “You lead the next van wave!”

  The knight tightened his lips knowing Lord Thomas had ordered him to his death. “So be it, Milord!” he said angrily. He drew his sword and turned his horse to lead his charge of one against the Scots awaiting his arrival.

  His stallion hit the barricade hard breaking both forelegs before a stout spear held in stout hands went through his neck spraying blood over the nearby Scots. The knight mercifully died quickly impaled on another spear held from the second rank.

  “Huh,” was the Lord’s only expression to his knight’s involuntary gasp and the horse’s scream heard in the blackness.

  He ordered his men to dismount and pursue the enemy on foot.

  “Here comes more,” said a bowman to Patrick of Dunbar. The archers were still crouched close to the ground and keeping an eye on the rising moon that appeared to them to be the biggest moon they had ever seen, so they thought at that moment.

  “How many arrows ye got left?” asked Patrick.

  “‘Bout one to three each, I reckon,” he replied in a low voice.

  “Rise up and see how many ye can kill with what’s left,” ordered Patrick.

  “Aye,” said the archer getting to his feet and loosing his two last arrows. Two of Umfraville’s men fell.

  The other bowmen took the cue and shot their last at the oncoming English foot.

  “Draw swords,” said Patrick getting his own in the air.

  The attacking English warriors got to the barricade swinging and whacking at the out thrust pike heads. Some Scots took men before they were forced to back away from their position tight behind the logs.

  The second line started punching the English overrunning their fort with their long spears as they had come to the end of easy pickings. Dear blood would have to be paid to achieve more dead English.

  The battle line broadened as neither side wanted to give up fought-for ground. More men were engaged as each tried to outflank the other.

  The archers had given up their bows for their swords and attacked the right flank of the English.

  The struggle to maintain life while meting out death became primary to the individuals.

  The Scots were pushed down the slope.

  “Suppose we’ve won as yet?” asked Lord Thomas loosing none of his sense of detachment from his fighters.

  “Too dark to tell, Thomas,” said his brother Robert sitting high in his saddle beside him.

  “We’ll go see,” said Thomas sallying his horse toward the din of the close skirmish.

  Robert kicked his horse to follow.

  The pair and their contingent of twenty more close yeomen came over the crest where the sounds of fighting and dying were considered very close at hand and Thomas without warning drew rein to listen.

  “What you a’hearin’?” asked Robert coming to his side.

  Lord Thomas was amazed and could not ascertain any meaning from the grunts and screams of the near part of the battle than he could a hundred paces back.

  “Time to leave, Robert,” said he with no sympathy in his voice nor in his eyes for his fighting men. “No need to throw good others into the fray when you can’t tell a win from a loss.”

  “What about Hotspur?” asked Robert as he wheeled with his brother.

  “Lord Henry Percy can save his own arse. We must save our remaining
men for Carlisle,” replied Lord Thomas. “Our own Sir Ralph must be saved.”

  “Tomorrow?” asked Robert.

  “I figure to get as far away from this field as we can tonight,” he replied. “Two days it will take to get to Carlisle so we can take on Earl Archibald in daylight.”

  And as it happened Lord Thomas and Robert rode back into the Otter Valley and turned southwest with the bulk of their army intact leaving those who were engaged in combat with the Scots to their own fate, which fast became puny to poor. Those who realized there was no help forthcoming yielded and were taken prisoners.

  Earl George retained a good majority of his army. He left a small contingent of pickets in the outreaches of the battlefield’s north section while he went to the center of the camp to study out where best to apply his freshly released troops.

  Douglas and his men loudly shouted their slogan, “Douglas!! – Douglas!!” as they strongly charged the right flank of Hotspur’s surprised contingent. The close English warriors of that flank had little chance of switching fronts and the first spearmen of the Scot’s line made short work of dispatching those unfortunate brave men. Douglas used the momentum of that first blow to push tighter with success.

  The war cry slogan of a thousand dedicated men’s voices with such excited energy had a tendency to weaken the otherwise doughty English who were worn from their day’s journey, thrown immediately into the furnace of battle with Scots bent on their destruction at all cost.

  John Dunbar was rallied by the chanting thousand and renewed his vow to press boldly onward. Sir John Sinclair and Sir John Maxwell trading hard blows with the English men-at-arms were also inspired and added renewed energy into their efforts.

  From the English left flank near the servant’s camp the battle was lost for the Scots as the young, untrained men and boys had been out maneuvered and out numbered.

  With twelve of his servants and only nine left of the regular spearmen sent to him earlier, Sir John Swinton decided to abandon the servant’s camp and join the main battle. Sir Alexander Ramsey agreed. The twenty-three men and older lads moved uphill to find a place of entry into the ongoing hot battle.

  Much of Hotspur’s straggling foot army had caught up to one another and was backed up to somewhere east of Otterburn Village. Thirty-two miles of walking in the heat of the day wearing sweaty, hefty armor and carrying several weapons up a road that was little more than a cow-path in the wilderness was all they could manage. Their wobbly legs could go no further without rest, water and food.

  As they laid about resting in unruly clumps the townsfolk realized their relieving army was in need and began the distribution of foodstuffs as they had them and water to the weary men who were closest to the town.

  Other hungry soldiers who got little or no attention took to raiding the few buildings and homes as they found them. The townsfolk worried it would get much worse come the dawn.

  Some of the warriors went to the far end of the town to jump into the dark flowing river with all their clothes and armor on just to get cool.

  As many buckets as could be found were stolen and used to ferry drinking water to friends still laying about along the road too sore and too ambitionless to move from their acquired sedentary spots.

  The town fathers and warriors stayed buttoned in their stone tower. Through the narrow windows they heard the stories told by the citizens whose good intentions had gotten them their bad plight.

  The fathers had no way to help against such overwhelming odds and thus the citizens were again forced to seek sanctuary in the copsewood taking with them whatever little food they had left.

  As they soon enough found, the English common manners were no better than those of the Scots.

  The moon, for whatever the wan light it provided, was suddenly taken from them when a thick cloud moved across the sky making the whole of the area as black as the darkest obsidian.

  The intermixture of men in the heat of killing one another was immediately halted for fear of killing friends as well as foes. Everyone was then frozen in time and in place. The main battlefield became quiet and all that was heard were the moans of the wounded who were struggling with their agonizing pain.

  As the moments wore there was heard snoring from the worn English taking advantage of the unanticipated respite.

  James Douglas was heard saying prayers for a victory. He was joined by those who were close around him. He dared not shut his eyes for fear the moonlight would return to them at any moment or for the whole of the night be gone.

  “Get to yer chore, laddie,” said Earl George giving the scout John a friendly pat on the back then he was approached by John Swinton and Alexander Ramsey. The men were not far into their discussion when the dark came upon them.

  George looked up to see the last of the moon being stripped of her light. “That might just be the end of it,” he said.

  There was nothing more to say than to agree with the possibility so Swinton blandly said, “Reckon it might,”

  “What’s happened at the servant’s camp?” asked George.

  “Got overrun, we did, Milord,” said Swinton. “It was Redman from Berwick. I recognized his banner… Don’t know who the other one was.”

  “How many ye have left?” asked George who had been searching for an entry point for getting into the main fray.

  “Just twenty-three of us are left,” interjected Alexander.

  “Rest killed?” asked George.

  “Run off mostly,” explained Swinton. “Too young and inexperienced, they were.”

  “They were never meant to fight horsed men-at-arms anyway,” put in George. “Our herd still down there?”

  “For now it is,” he replied then added, “Some of the English found our cache of whisky and are gettin’ drunk.”

  “How’d ye do on the north side?” asked Swinton when George looked upward to see if any relief on the moon was forthcoming anytime soon.

  “‘Twas Umfraville come to kill us from that side,” returned George. “Killed a good many and took a good many prisoner but from what I can figure, the most part ran off back into the valley.”

  “How ye figure?” asked Swinton.

  “Talkin’ to the prisoners,” George said matter-of-factly.

  Within the main muddle of stinking men and gore from those who were prematurely forced from their ghost, the ones anxiously awaiting the repeal of the slow moving cloud played havoc with their minds.

  One of the Scots hearing a close man in the dark speaking in what he took as an English accent thought to get ahead of the return to the killing and with his axe struck hard in the direction of the voice. There was the expected loud scream and the fall to the ground but the sinking surprise came when he heard the same voice call his name from the bloody grass and saying somebody had killed him and asking him to tell mother good bye.

  In the dark the man dropped to his knees and with groping fingers felt for his dying brother and hugged him tight in his arms and with tears streaming begged forgiveness to the deaf ears of his life long companion he had so casually killed more on a whim than any other reason.

  Sir James Douglas grew more set to win his battle the more he stood in the dark among his enemies. His patience grew short and the quiet gnawed at his mind that had been set for war and the opportunity for that war had been suddenly withdrawn. He fretted and fidgeted to get back to his ‘game’ as he considered it. He wondered what he could do to further his ambition while he had limited choices.

  Knowing his good squires were close by as they always were, he spoke into the darkness, “Start the chant!”

  Davy Coleville was the first to understand his near cryptic meaning and with his loud voice began, “Douglas!! – Douglas!!”

  James’ thousand were quick to add their voices to the darkened clamor.

  Hotspur also caught to idea quickly by shouting, “Percy!! – Percy!!” Until the perception of the whole bloody land was changed from darkness to a din of rekindled anger and hu
man will ready to impress themselves upon their enemy.

  Douglas looked to the heavens and prayed again that the cloud was alone and would quickly pass before the voices of his men and their spike of enthusiasm wilted from exhaustion.

  The eyes of many of the men were beginning to adjust to the darkened conditions and they were seeing vague images maneuvering slowly.

  “My long-handled axe,” ordered Douglas over the shouting.

  With the head of the axe held down Davy passed it to where he figured his liege lord stood and bumped it on his forearm.

  Douglas sank his sword into its sheath and took the hefty double-headed axe with both hands. He looked again at the starless welkin and without rationalizing his thoughts reminded God of his prayer.

  Whether it was for good or for ill, as suddenly as the light had been denied it was returned to the greater brightness.

  Douglas seemed to have had been forewarned of the light’s return for he yelped his war whoop as loudly as he could and started swinging his axe widely from one side to the other. The startled English caught the brunt of the strong blows as he walked straight into them.

  The Scots were fully energized by the boldness of Douglas seizing the moment and his bravery for wading into the enemy so successfully. They ran behind him swinging their swords and other long handled weapons of their choice in the manner of their leader and much to the chagrin of those who were in the path of the hefty swings.

  John Dunbar and his men were caught in the euphoric moment and pushed forward against the plentiful English warriors.

  The Scots were shouting the loudest as they moved forward motivated by their beloved leader, James Douglas.

  Earl George rushed to the wattle barricade to see the disposition of the Scots.

  Swinton and Ramsey were tight on his heels.

  “I see my brother’s banner yon,” he said as he pointed directly into the crowd. “Here is where we can best bring our eight hundred men and be effective against our enemy.”

  The thin line of spearmen initially left along the wattle had since gone over and joined the mêlée. The barricade had served its purpose well in containing the rampant spread of English across the whole of the field.