Games of Otterburn 1388 (35 page)

“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 beards 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.