“Mine’s the best for such ridin’ as that,” said James. “Is it mine ye might be a’wantin’?”
“If yer willin’ to part with him for a while ‘til I get back from Carlisle,” said John cheerfully.
“Kept him saddled all night for fear I’d have to run for my life,” said James.
John could tell James was coming closer to him.
“Ye ken the condition of the battle?” asked James.
“Mighty fight still goin’ on… no tellin’ the outcome,” said John who suddenly felt James’ hand touch his. He instinctively jerked back.
James laughed. “Just handin’ ye the reins.”
John then laughed. “Ye want a turnip?”
“Aye,” sounds good,” replied James, “A trade of a horse for a root.”
Both of the young men then laughed together never knowing what the other looked like.
The dark prevailed and so did John for James got him atop his horse and walked the animal to the edge of the river by feel and by sound. He handed the reins up to John and told him to ford the river, turn to his left riding through the few trees stitching the river and he’d then be on his way. Both of them would be glad if the clouds would float on by but they feared it would be covered for all the night.
The rogue cloud did abate after a while and John could travel at a faster clip to where he left Samuel to watch after the enemy camp.
It was early light of the new day as he approached a higher ridge. He looked into the valley and saw that Umfraville’s army had awakened early and was gone.
James knew Samuel would have left him the trail signs he promised and he walked his horse to the place where he had left Samuel seeking a possible first sign.
John glanced downhill to see if there were any vestiges of camp followers still in the valley when he noticed a part of Samuel’s surcoat jutting from the base of a tree trunk directly below.
He gasped. He waited a moment to collect his thoughts. He then called out easily. “Sam?”
Samuel did not answer.
He got from his horse and surreptitiously looked uphill from his position. He saw no one. He went down hill using the sides of his boots to make for sure steps on the steeper grades. His breath quickened when he came to the tree trunk and he looked around again dreading a trap.
He finally went to the lower side of the tree and there was Samuel appearing to be peacefully asleep except for the arrow wound in his chest. The archer had been close enough to retrieve his missile after his deadly shot.
John shook his friend but he was already stiff and cold.
He fantasized that if he had waited ‘til first light before he left to report that he too would be dead. But what preyed heaviest on his mind was that he was the only one who could warn his countrymen at Carlisle that they were about to be set upon by Umfraville’s considerable force.
He glanced around again not believing that the English archers that kept watch over the movements of the army and killing scouts like him who could tell their secrets, would not wait for him to return to claim their second kill.
He took a last look at his friend and left him just as he found him. He got back aboard his horse and made tracks toward the River Tyne where he knew the English had to go to get to Carlisle efficiently.
To avoid them he knew he had to trust that their ultimate destination was Carlisle and take the far riskier and longer trail through the mountains in the hope he would reach Carlisle in time.
August 20 - Early Morning
Along the road from
Newcastle to Otterburn
And so it happened that Walter Skirlaw did, later that night, get on the road toward Otterburn with about two thousand, five hundred troops. Some that came with him from the Bishopric of Durham and others from the northern portion of Yorkshire had run off in the early evening while they were camped outside the walls at Newcastle.
Before leaving he went through the streets of Newcastle spiritually brow-beating the lay-about soldiery left by Hotspur who had that very morning made his mad fly from the gates of the town without bothering to scoop those drunken military derelicts from their hiding holes.
The bishop had the moon to guide his way along the treacherous road but he grew weary after ten or so miles of riding his bony-backed horse and convinced himself that surely Lord Henry had to rest as well and would not be warring on the Scots before a sleep and a good hearty breakfast in the light of day.
So the moving army stopped for the night.
The early morning of the twentieth brought a harsh dose of reality when he and his men arose and after they had taken a bit of dried meat and hard biscuit the first of the fleeing warriors from the battle brought word of the disaster that had befallen Lord Henry Percy’s army.
“Do you think we should proceed?” spoke Skirlaw in hushed tones as he and Boynton turned their back to all of the others.
“This is but one man, your grace,” advised Boynton, “of course we must proceed… Hotspur needs these hearty men all the more.”
“I pray I was not wrong in tarrying here for a moment of sleep and victuals,” said Skirlaw overtoned by a thin layer of guilt.
“‘Twas as much my decision as yours, Your Grace,” said Boynton graciously alleviating the bishop from his remorse. He hoped God would look favorably on his useful lie.
“Yes, I remember your say,” spoke Skirlaw. “We must get to the business of saving Sir Henry… now!”
“Yes, Your Grace… We must!” replied Boynton climbing aboard his horse.
Skirlaw called a youth to his side to order him to offer his hands for the cleric’s foot so he could get into the saddle. The boy did such and when the pressure was put on his fingers he let out a loud grunt. Nobody dared laugh.
Walter Skirlaw got into his saddle.
The bishop imagined himself as a great Christian soldier wresting the Holy Land from the Saracens. “Glory for God and for us all!!” he dramatically shouted loud enough so that no more than fifty heard it. He drew his sword and raised it high over his head as he set spurs to his purple draped warhorse and waved for his men to follow him to a glory that was playing out in his own mind.
The already weary men followed not in a military order but more to a fashion of deviant pigs rummaging through an oak and chestnut wood rooting out the devil’s own exotic forbidden truffles.
August 20 - Early Morning
Blakeman’s Law
As the dawn light came to overwhelm the reflected moonlight used to perpetuate the unique overnight battle the warriors were still hard at their combat of spears alternatively rammed into each other’s semi organized lines stepping over a floor of dead bodies to get to their enemy. During the night it had been more of a ‘free-for-all mêlée but with added light the remaining English knights and nobles insisted on a more organized battle.
What the English may have wanted the Scots to think was a continued commitment to the battle, even though Henry and Ralph Percy had been captured, it was more likely to have been a ruse for a structured retreat from the rear ranks to save as many soldiers and material as would be possible.
The Scottish scouts, however, could easily see from the top of the hills overlooking the Village of Elsdon that the great army of Sir Henry Percy was bleeding men from its core force for as far down the road to Newcastle as they could see.
It was William Lindsay who took to the Greenchesters wood to relieve himself. He then heard a whinny of a large horse deeper in the copsewood and as he hunkered he glanced downhill in that direction. He saw the swish of a horse’s tail but what he also saw was the gleam-star of the sun striking polished metal.
He smiled to himself and found a few close leaves. He stood and fastened his breaches then as casually as he walked into the wood he walked out. “There’s a knight with good-made armor in the wood and I’m figurin’ to catch him for the ransom,” said William when he came to David Lindsay.
“Ye want help?” asked David.
“Just
wanted ye to know where I’ve gone in case I don’t come back,” replied William with a sneer to let David know he certainly did not need help for the sake of a single man.
David nodded and William went to the pinfold to fetch his horse.
All of the younger lads had been rescued from being intermixed with the cattle. None of them suffered any more than itchy midge bumps and the occasional misstep of a cow’s hoof on a small foot mashing it into the squishy ground.
Sir Matthew Redman’s men who destroyed the servant’s camp for the sake of inebriating spirits and an overabundance of victuals were set upon by a band of Scots led by Sir Walter Sinclair and they had made such a shambles of the tents and supplies that every Englishman guilty of creating the destruction thereof was slaughtered without mercy.
The fast growing ranks of prisoners that were generally kept in place on the hillside were fed and there was water distributed in buckets to drink from at their pleasure. Only those who refused to swear an oath concerning their state of being a prisoner were bound hands and feet and tied to a stob driven into the ground. Only a very few had to be tied in such a manner.
William saddled his horse from the pinfold and climbed aboard. His squire handed him his heavy spear.
“More needs for ye, Milord?” asked the squire looking up to his liege lord.
“When I come back full handed I’ll be a’givin’ ye a pretty pence, laddie,” promised William and he winked at the lad just before he set spurs to the destrier’s rib-flesh and hied through the open pinfold gate and off to the Greenchesters copsewood to catch him a rich prize, As much as anything, that’s what he hoped.
Sir Matthew Redman was the man who had returned to the killing scene of his renegade warriors to see if there was any salvation possible. It was him who awkwardly hid himself in the wood when William was taking a shit. He should have squatted and Lindsay would have never seen the glint.
But he was awkward and the next he knew Sir William was horse-bound and riding straight for him.
Redman ran fast for his horse that was tied to a tree branch downhill a bit. He jerked the reins from the branch with leaves flying and literally jumped into the saddle. He kicked the horse to run and so it did. Redman guided it uphill to the north not wanting to be slowed by the Rede River to the south.
William smiled. He liked a challenge. He followed at a steady pace.
To the north was the Otter Valley and Redman was hoping he could lose his pursuer in the dapple of trees, open grazing land and long morning shadows.
Redman’s horse was the faster in short bursts and William’s was a large Chesnut Belgian good for very short spates at a gallop.
Matthew drew up on the edge of a ridge to rest his mount. He thought he had lost William until he saw him trotting along as if he were out for a leisure trip.
William was coming straight for him so there was no hiding place. Redman waited until William had covered half the distance then he kicked his horse away from the ridge pocket of deep shadow and as he started up the hill he looked back to see William not changing his pace.
Matthew drew a deep breath and knew then if he could not catch up with the retreating English troops he would have to fight William.
William saw a prize and would not be assuaged.
Matthew got to a place in the road where he thought he would go no further. He turned and waited for William to arrive.
He heard the clops of the large hooves for at least a quarter of a mile back, he surmised.
Matthew waited.
When William came close and drew rein Matthew said, “You’d figure if you saw a man take a shit he wouldn’t be the one a’chasin’ you down to kill you.”
William laughed. “No need for a killin’,” said he, “A prisoner is what I want,”
“Same for me, my friend,” replied Redman lowering his lance spear.
“Reckon we’ll see who gets to be whose prisoner,” said William lowering the face shield on his helm. He then realized Redman had no helm at all.
He held his hand to cease and opened his helm then wriggling his head from the protective gear threw it to the side.
“Now!” said William proudly.
Redman smiled and nodded then again lowered his spear.
William started the charge and Matthew was but a beat behind. In the early morning stillness there was a shattering clash of spear points against metal shields as the two knights had their initial run.
William wheeled to see Redman on the ground drawing is sword.
He hit his destrier’s ribs once again with his spear held downward.
Matthew jumped at the last second and slashed the oncoming spear with his sword gapping it so bad William knew it was no longer useful as a weapon.
William drew his sword and jumped from his stirrups. He went strongly against Redman working his sword in an overhead manner and knocking Matthew to the grass.
Once more he raised his sword.
Matthew looked up and saw the blade glinting in the sunlight and knew it was done. His fingers released his sword handle as he raised his left hand saying, “I see I am your prisoner, Milord.”
“Indeed ye are,” agreed William sheathing his broad blade. “Indeed, ye are.” He held out his hand to help Matthew to his feet. The two men looked into each other’s eyes, each wondering about their new relationship.
“I have business in Newcastle,” spoke Redman.
“But ye are my prisoner. That is yer most important business,” said William hoping things would not turn ugly. As a man he liked him even if he was English… he seemed honorable enough.
“If I am allowed to go freely to Newcastle and then along to Berwick where I live I will bring you your ransom to wherever you so designate in Scotland or elsewhere, sir,” bargained Redman.
“I will agree to that if ye but give me a pretty pence at this moment and the rest within, say, a fortnight from this day?” countered William.
“A fortnight will do, Milord,” agreed Redman removing his gauntlet and pushing his bare hand into his leather pouch to find as shiny a pence as he would have. “This one do?” he asked holding the coin at arms length.
William smiled. “I’m sure,” he said taking the coin without looking. “Bond money for the rest.”
“And how much will the rest be,” said Matthew arching a brow.
“Ye set yer own ransom, sir,” he said. “I get what ye have.”
“I understand,” said Redman, “and pay I will.”
“I know,” replied William picking his helm up from the ground and climbing back aboard his destrier.
Redman looked at the horse that had run his faster one down.
“Want to sell your horse?” asked Redman still standing on the grass.
“Not to ye and not on this day,” said William smiling. “Ye got no money what hain’t mine a’ready.”
Redman shook his head and smiled for William was right.
“A fortnight, my home in Lothian,” reminded William.
“I swear I will be there,” said Redman getting into the saddle of his own horse.
“Ye can keep yer own horse,” quipped William then he trotted off back toward Blakeman’s Law satisfied of his achievement.
John Dunbar had for much of the night directed and participated in the rigorous battle. He left his brother George in charge as he went up the hill toward the camp to rest a bit and get a hand of victuals. He was accompanied by Mungan and four other men-at-arms who had been by his side for all the night.
Sir John Maxwell met the man half way up saying, “Just got a report in from one of our scouts.”
“What about?” asked John not missing a pace toward his goal.
“English are leaving out the back, Milord,” said Maxwell.
John stopped and looked Maxwell in the eyes. “Leaving?... As in retreating?”
“‘Ppears to be,” answered Maxwell. “Or desertin’, could be.”
“Ye e’er heard of desertin’ in an orderly manne
r?”
“Nae, Milord,” he replied dropping his eyes.
“And yet they still got plenty of men to make us think we still have a full war goin’ on,” said John more to himself that to any around. To Maxwell he then ordered, “Go find my brother within the battle and tell him we have a problem. I need to see him!”
“Aye, Milord,” replied Maxwell and ran downhill as fast as he could manage.
Mungan saw Adara milling about near the surgeon’s tent and he worked his way until he was standing over her as she was helping a wounded man drink a cup of water.
She recognized his boots and she began to shake. Her eyes went up his bloody clothes until she saw his buckler and she let out a squeal that hurt the ear drums of everyone in the vicinity.
Mungan clapped the palms of his hands over his ears and smiled. He had missed her highland shriek for all the night and there were times he thought he would never hear it again and yet, there he stood.
Without thinking she leapt from her crouching position on the ground to clinging her arms around his neck and her legs girdling his middle while placing fully on his bloody lips kisses interlaced with a plethora of giggles.
Her head suddenly jerked back and with a serious mouth said, “Ye hurt?”
“Everybody else’s blood,” he said smiling, “I no dead!”
She kissed him more as he wrapped his heavy arms around her tiny waist. “Told ye to wait in the wood,” he reminded her.
Her brows quickly peaked as she slipped herself to the ground and boldly and succinctly announced, “That was the most dangerous place of all! – Folks were kilt in there all the live-long night!”
Mungan grunted. He was happy she had survived the bath of rampant blood.
Not far from the reunion sat Sir Henry brooding over his capture and his loss of pride and fortune. He sat unbound for he had given his oath.
Nevertheless, John Montgomery sat not far away keeping his eye on his captive and thinking of the castle he was going to build with his ransom money.
Henry, on the other hand, fixated on a single object down hill no more than forty feet and at the entrance to Sir James Douglas’ tent where Hotspur’s prideful pennon hung on a banner staff and moving ever so innocently in the light warm breeze.
Games of Otterburn 1388 Page 28