Games of Otterburn 1388 (58 page)

Hotspur watched the proceeding from a hunkered position within the designated circle of prisoners. His emotions were understandably blunted. His pennon was no closer in hand than it ever had been since
Douglas
took it from him at
Newcastle
.

Beside him was his brother Ralph who writhed with pain as his fever drove him to spells of faint. Cold water fetched from the river below helped to cool him some. Hotspur knew he was going to have to trade his good deportment for Ralph’s return to
Newcastle
where there were modern physicians beyond the near pagan knowledge of the Scottish herbwyfe then treating Ralph. Or so he thought.

George soon arrived and knelt to say a private prayer over his friend. He sighed deeply and placed his hand over the stilled heart saying in quiet words, “Exciting and dangerous games they were, my brave comrade… I now fear you were right.”

August 21 - Morning

Carlisle

The sun had been up for several hours as John the scout had traversed to higher elevations of the mountain range to keep out of sight of the archers covering the moving army of Lord Thomas Umfraville as he marched against the Scots laying siege on Castle Carlisle.

He traveled as much as he could in the day and some by the light of the full moon but became fearful he would lose his bearings as he could not recognize his visually known trail marks in the dark despite the brightness of the moon. Since he had gone two days without sleep he involuntarily slept as he could.

John stopped by a small spring to water his horse and fill his skin. He looked out over the valley before him. Knowing they were ever present, he searched for Umfraville’s archers at the lower elevations.

Then he saw
Carlisle
some twelve or more miles in front of him.

He knew it was too far for a galloping run. There was little cover between his position and the valley town. “What to do?” questioned John to his horse who had no answer but seemed willing enough to pledge his four legs to the life or death gambit.

John decided to go south to get behind the hill he was on so he could drop to the valley floor without fear of getting caught by the English longbowmen on rough terrain. It was a longer and more time consuming trek but he dare not chance not getting to
Carlisle
at all.

Soon John was on relatively flat land without any archers in sight. He trotted along as if he was an ordinary citizen. It worked for about six or seven miles until he saw two riders running fast in his direction. He knew they were on to his subterfuge and patted his horse on the neck just as he kicked him to a full gallop. The round light-weight targe he usually carried on his saddlebow he slung over his arm and maneuvered it to cover his back.

He rode fast and hard. He looked back hoping the archers’ horses were getting winded. Unfortunately they were keeping up.

He leaned close to his horse hoping to go faster.

Without warning he felt the thud of an arrow go into his targe and stick into his back. He winced and rose up high in the saddle as another two arrows whizzed near his head.

He again glanced back as he wriggled the targe from his back the arrow point tore at his flesh as it came out. The wound hurt badly but his good news was the two English archers had exhausted their horses.

He slowed to a trot as he broke the arrow out of the leather and wood shield and returned it to his back hoping no more archers would appear in the last leg of his desperate journey.

He looked back and the archers were running with the reins of their horses in their hands.

John knew it would be only a matter of time before they would be back aboard their mounts and traveling as fast as he was.

He pushed his gait to a cantor and managed to spread the distance between them. John thought Umfraville’s army has to be at least a half day’s ride back.

Soon John could see bits of the tops of the cathedral and the donjon of the castle as he hit the higher points of the gentle slopes. He looked back again to see the men following had split up and it was the one on horseback who was closing fast while the other easily loped his horse along. John knew they had found a waterhole somewhere. He was forced to speed up as the man chasing was getting into arrow range for a longbow.

He glanced back again. The archer had dismounted and was drawing back the string of his bow and arching it upward. John knew the range of the longbow and beat his faithful horse to as fast as he could make legs go. He suddenly broke left and the arrow whizzed by on his right.

The archer’s horse was on the ground as the second archer trotted past still in pursuit.

John could hear the second man coming closer.

John’s horse was near exhaustion and he knew he had at least another mile to go. His horse could not make another mile at a full gallop but he had to try so he kicked him harder and the horse went at full gallop.

The archer got from his horse and drew his bow back as far as he could just as John’s horse hit a rough bit of ground and stumbled. John jumped off as the horse hit the ground.

John stood pulling his targe in front of him as his only protection against the arrows.

The horse was breathing hard and his fearful eyes were rolling to see anything there was to see.

The missile was launched.

John knew it was coming and walked ten feet off its course.

The archer had another barb loaded and drew back.

The first barb struck John’s horse in the rump. It writhed and tried to get up but could not do more than flail three of its legs and scream to the heavens.

John thought to run but he did not want to leave James’ horse behind. He drew his sword and shook it at his enemy in defiance of his uncontrollable fate.

Suddenly the close archer got back aboard his horse.

John turned to see two other outriders coming toward him from behind. With his targe and sword he stood his ground and was sad his venture to save the lives of so many at
Carlisle
was at an end.

As the oncoming riders got closer he could see that all was
not
lost as they were
picket
Scots.

John’s attention was drawn to his suffering horse as the men rode up.

“Who are ye?” asked one of the riders.

“Name’s John,” he said affectingly rubbing the ears of his horse. “From Earl James Douglas’ army
fightin
’ in the East March and
ye’re
fixed to be set upon by the English.”

With that last word he pushed his sharp dagger into the horse’s neck that began to bleed heavily.

“Good bye, my friend,” said John reverently. “
Ye’ve
saved a mighty host of
Scotland
’s heroes this day.”

After a moment the horse breathed its last and John stood saying, “Take me to Earl Archibald Douglas or Earl Robert Stewart.”

August 21 - Late Morning

Blakeman’s Law

The detritus of the Scottish camp on the slope was gathered in a heap in the middle of the area and set afire. The smoke wistfully made its way skyward seemingly as lonely as those who had lost friends and kin in the battle.

The bloody and mangled banner of Earl James Douglas wrapped his equally shattered corpse as it lay on a specially prepared litter in front of his tent. Hotspur’s pennon still tossed with
the
 
breeze
above his covered head.

Hotspur had begged Earl George to send his brother to
Newcastle
with the pledge that if he lived the ransom would be paid by their father to be sure.

Several farmers’ wains and their teams of draft horses were commandeered and brought to the camp to carry Sir James and the knights who had lost their lives in the battle back to
Scotland
, escorted by some of
Douglas
’ close knights. They were to go by the way of
Dere
Street, an old Roman road that was more suitable for the wheels of wains that the rough terrain over the Redeswire the Scots had traversed as they had gone south in a grand hurry only eleven days earlier.

The great many English that had been held as prisoners presented its own cadre of problems. An equal amount of men-at-arms had been traded for the Scots mostly taken in the skirmishes as they chased the retreating English down the
Newcastle
road.

The English took care of their dead by hauling them to the
church
of
St Cuthbert
at Elsdon and buried them in a mass grave under the north wall there.

Mungan had just come back from his burial party along the edge of the wood where the dead Scots were placed in a common grave. Even though he was wounded,
Douglas
’ Chaplin was going to be performing a service over them before the major part of the army pulled out going back across the way they had come toward
Scotland
.
 

“Sad day,” opined Adara when she saw the despair on Mungan’s face.

“Saddest I’ve seen for a while, for true it is,” he replied shaking his head… then from behind his back he held a pair of boots outward toward her. “Good Scottish leather and goodly made, they are.”

Adara was confused on her emotions. She felt like squealing for joy on the one hand and on the other she knew they had been pulled from the feet of a brave fighter no longer needing them. She sucked her breath inward and squeezed her eyes tight as she stifled a tearful whimper.