The King's Dogge (14 page)

I tried to work out if there was a hint of sarcasm in his voice but found none. Thank God he was so gullible.

‘I'll tell the men in case any of them start wondering about those palfreys.'

‘You see that explains how Middleton broke through?'

A relieved smile came to his face.

‘Of course it does, my lord. It's sort of proof that Master Middleton escaped. I'm glad you are here, my lord. I'll go now, if I may?'

I nodded and went to find Edward Franke. With a little luck I should be able to persuade him that while we both knew of Dick's obsession with horses, Dick and I were boyhood friends. Naturally, Dick would have put friendship and comradeship before his devotion to horses. He had surrendered the palfreys to act as a decoy so they could escape. My explanation would have to be particularly convincing; it would be difficult as I didn't believe a word of it.

C
HAPTER
7

‘
T
here aren't enough Scots for us, my lord!' called out one of the archers to roars of laughter from his colleagues.

I delayed inspecting the barricade and smiled back at the ring of confident faces.

‘Why won't the Scots attack?' shouted another.

‘They're scared of you!' I answered with a smile.

This was the story I had put to Fennell when, after two days and two nights, the Scots had still not attacked. It was obvious that with Middleton's troops defeated, the Scots, wisely, preferred to starve us out rather than risk an all-out assault on a fairly narrow front. I had pointed out to Captain Fennell the difficulties the Scots would face if they tried to attack and how, in their defensive position, the archers would have the natural advantage.

‘So they're afraid?' he growled.

He seemed disappointed there was to be no attack.

‘It's the only reason I can think of.' I was lying barefacedly. ‘You'll destroy them before they get to the barricade and they know it.'

His face clouded over. Clearly he had been hoping to slaughter the Scots.

‘You're right, my lord, of course. Mind you, they'll have to do something soon. How many supplies do you think they have?'

It was an unexpected point. I had assumed the Scots would be able to starve us out, but while they travelled light and consumed little, after two weeks in the saddle they must be nearing the end of their own supplies. As such, it was probable they would try to complete their defeat of the English forces soon. I decided to inspect the barricade with a new conviction that tonight would be the night they launched their assault.

‘Master Middleton's men will be back in three days!' another archer shouted out.

There was a round of cheering. Morale was high; everyone believed what their Captain had told them.

‘Well it might be four days if he's bringing supplies up with him.' I sought to calm them with a strained smile.

‘Three days, four days,' the man called back. ‘Why won't the Scots attack?'

‘They're terrified!' his friends chorused loudly and there were roars of derisive laughter.

I looked at the barricade; it seemed smaller every time I stared at it.

‘What happens if they get round the flanks?' I wanted to know.

A number of them patted the long swords they wore and one produced a heavy bullock knife.

‘Can't say, as they won't, my lord, but if they do, they'll be sorry.'

There were murmurs of agreement and I moved away, feigning an air of confidence, to the eastern side of the camp. It had been agreed that Fennell would command his men on the exposed western side and I would cover the remaining perimeter with the thirty men-at-arms. We had agreed that it would be unlikely there would be an attack other than from the west, but it would be foolish to leave the remaining ground unguarded. If necessary, my men could reinforce Fennell.

I found Edward Franke peering at the small group on the hill opposite us.

‘Who do you think they are, Francis?'

They seemed the least of our problems.

‘Probably Scottish scouts watching to see that we don't try to escape when the Scots attack from the west.'

‘I suppose so, but Captain Fennell told me that they don't have spears like the other Scots. Perhaps, they are just looking after the captured palfreys.'

‘Edward, how are the supplies?'

‘We can last two more days, but then Dick Middleton will be back the day after that.'

I bit my lip. I had to give Edward something to do before I lost my composure and told him the truth.

‘Edward, I think that the Scots will attack tonight. I want you to be the messenger between Captain Fennell and myself. Base yourself on the western side, stay away from the barricade, and bring me word when he needs reinforcements.'

‘Yes, my lord.'

In the valley, the Scots were on the move. I saw them mounting and forming small groups. They rode south and, presently, began to loop to the right. It certainly looked as if they would attack tonight. I settled down to keep watch.

Edward Franke nudged me.

‘Captain Fennell sent me,' he whispered. ‘There are noises on the western approach.'

I got up and looked down the sloping camp to where the three great fires burned by the marker stands. The night being cloudy, they provided the only light. With them as a background, I could make out the shapes of archers rousing themselves and slowly making their way to the barricade.

Edward helped me into my harness; I picked up my gauntlets and gave him my helmet, as I reached for my war hammer. It had been a gift from Sergeant Jervis when I trained under him. He had narrowed down the choice of weapon that most suited me to two – the war hammer and the poleaxe. After watching me in combat training for about ten days, he decided on the hammer.
⁸

‘The poleaxe has a longer reach and it has an axe as well as a hammer,' he had said in the end. ‘But you need to be quicker than you are. If you manage this weapon correctly, you'll only need to use it once against any opponent. With your size and strength, I doubt there are many who could stop you. Now let's take it slowly…'

I spotted Fennell in the centre of his men. He towered over them and shouted for them to form two crude lines. They all shuffled into position and bent down. I assumed they were placing arrows in the ground in front of them.

I left my helmet off; once it is placed on the head most sound and vision is impeded and, while it would be impossible for the Scots to ride up the other three slopes, I needed to watch and listen for enemy foot soldiers.

There was a great shout from the other end of the camp, and I heard the thunder of a hundred horses' hooves. In a moment, the ground in front of the fires was full of horsemen galloping frantically towards the barricade with spears outstretched, screaming as they came. I could neither see nor hear the arrows that were being poured into them as they charged.

It would be carnage for the Scots. They were advancing on a single front and, silhouetted against the blazing fires, the front rows would be quickly destroyed by concentrated arrow fire. The bodies would then block the charge of those following them and bunched together they would be easy, if unseen, targets for the archers. Judging by the babble at the west side of the camp, I was right. The Scottish whoops were turning to screams and the frantic neighing of their horses was gradually being silenced. Simultaneously, the triumphant roars of our bowmen grew louder and more confident.

I saw our archers gradually relax their stance; I guessed they could hear a distant drumming of hooves signalling the retreat of the Scots. I imagined none of them had got close to the camp and, since there were no mounted figures on our territory, any attempt to outflank the barricade must have failed.

‘Fennell reckons he's used about half his arrows,' Edward Franke panted. ‘He's not going to try to recover any arrows until it's light.'

‘Any losses?'

‘He didn't say, but I don't think the Scots came close enough. I don't know how many of the Scots died, but we'll find out in the morning.'

His white teeth gleamed in the gloom.

‘Dick Middleton will be angry when he returns and finds that there are no Scots left for him. He should be back…'

‘Edward,' I said quickly, ‘tell Captain Fennell that nothing has occurred at this end of the camp, but we will continue to keep watch. Go now in case he's worried.'

‘Oh he's not worried. In fact, I think…'

‘Just go!' I yelled at him.

There would be no further attacks that night, I guessed. The Scots had been badly hurt. I looked out into the darkness and tried to anticipate their next move. In their position, what would I do? There were probably sufficient numbers of them left to mount another attack tomorrow night, and by that time the three great fires would have burned themselves out. They could attack with the advantage of total darkness, but suppose that attack failed too? The obvious thing to do would be to bring up reinforcements and get further supplies. They would know that with Middleton dead; we were stranded with no food and few arrows left. They could either starve us out or mount a third attack, which would probably succeed.

At dawn, I went down to the western side. Despite the hour, the place was a hive of activity with archers recovering whatever arrows they could find and looting the Scottish dead.

‘158, my lord.'

I recognised the archer who had joked about the Scots the previous day.

‘What about their wounded?' I asked.

He looked at me in surprise.

‘There aren't any now,' he said patiently. ‘But you'll find that figure of their dead to be correct; Captain Fennell went to look at the bodies himself.'

That puzzled me, but I did not ask him about it when later I congratulated him on his men's shooting.

‘Easy pickings, my lord. We couldn't miss at that range. I don't know how many of their wounded managed to ride away,' he added thoughtfully.

‘How many arrows have your men got left?'

‘Probably thirty or so a man. We'll see off the next attack and then Middleton will be back.'

He roared with laughter and put his great paw of a hand on my shoulder.

‘Did you hear what Edward Franke said, my lord?' His shoulders heaved. ‘He said that Master Middleton will be angry to find we have destroyed half the Scots when he gets back.'

A few men smiled openly at the sight of their giant captain laughing happily with Lord Lovell safe in the knowledge that their clever plan was working out as they had hoped. Soon Middleton would return and they had already killed a large number of Scots without losing a single man. I bit my tongue and suggested that we use the Scottish spears to line the bottom of the trench – Edward Franke could take care of that. With any luck it would take him all day.

‘Another good idea, my lord,'John Fennell chuckled. ‘Mind you, we'll have to pray for moonlight tonight; we won't be able to build more fires. You'll find that those Scots will lurk around here just out of arrow shot. Maybe we won't even see them, but they'll be there. If you sent a man out of camp today to rebuild those fires, he would be ridden down and spitted before he knew what had happened.'

I had guessed this would be the case, but it was interesting, and curious, that Fennell had come up with the same thought.

‘Then tonight we are reliant on the moon and the stars, so there's a greater chance that the Scots will throw everything they have at us,' I said to him. ‘Even that little band of thirty or so have moved off the hill opposite us.'

For some reason his head jerked up. For a moment his eyes blazed excitedly.

‘In the darkness, I think they might be able to outflank you, so I'll give you some of the men-at-arms to strengthen you and, if it's desperate, I'll bring the rest down to join you.'

He nodded, but I sensed his mind was elsewhere; he toyed with his little dagger in his hand. I moved away from the happy chatter of the archers. Morale in camp was undoubtedly high, and the men clearly relished the prospect of taking on the Scots again, but what would happen when Middleton failed to return? I could stall it for a day or so. If he were bringing supplies, Middleton would have come slower, but how long could I keep up the pretence? Morale would plummet, the Scots would gather more provisions, and with reinforcements, they would attack for the final time. The sharp swords of the archers would be no match for the longer spears of the Scots.

There was no way out. I had thought of trying to get the men down the hill to the captured horses, but we would have been ridden down shortly after we left camp. Even if we got to the palfreys, we would be outridden by the Scots and outreached by their spears. On balance, it was better to die on this hill. At least some of the men would die without knowing that Middleton was never going to come back for them. With any luck, most of them would die without knowing that it was I who had caused their deaths.