The King's Dogge (27 page)

We launched the second assault midway up the column. I guessed that we were out of range of the main force of Scottish archers and I believe that the bowmen who had been stationed at the rear of the column were not certain where we were. Despite the absence of archers, we were beaten back. Initially, our charge engendered chaos as it had before, but our horses were tiring now and the Scots sent spearmen against us. Most of our men had lost their lances by now. They were unable to counter the groups of Scots who stood out of range and jabbed at their mounts and then hacked at their riders as they slid to the ground. We were losing too many men. Soon the Scottish horse would have no need to move against us. We were becoming too few to pose a threat to our enemy. With the Scottish horse still protected by their archers too, Dick Middleton could not charge. We had to force the Scottish horse to move against us. I signalled to Haxx.

‘Now', he snapped.

I could think of no other way.

‘It's now or never,' he said curtly.

I let my shoulders droop. God forgive me, but this was the only way I knew.

‘Do the Horse Dance.'

He signalled to the remaining volunteers who were close by. I left him immediately and pushed my mount through the bellowing oxen and crazed horses. We had to get our men out and quickly.

‘Retire!' I yelled at a couple of troopers who were thrusting at a large man in a black breastplate.

‘Retreat!'

Hurriedly, I seized the reins of a soldier's horse. Where was that fool with the trumpet? I used the flat of my sword to beat two of our men back towards the rear of the column. Dear God, why didn't these fools hurry? As soon as they saw even the beginning of the Horse Dance, the whole Scottish Army would go berserk.

‘Move!' I yelled.

By now Haxx's volunteers must have targeted a couple of the fleeing Scottish men-at-arms.

I used the point of my sword to prick the rump of the horse in front of me.

‘Faster, you fools!'

But our horses were slowing. Any moment now the Scottish cavalry would ignore their orders and charge us. The provocation of the Horse Dance would simply be too great. Their shock and revulsion would make them want to tear us to pieces. Originally the dance had been invented in the West March to punish soldiers who were found guilty of stealing from their comrades. In that harsh military environment, the barbarity of the dance proved a highly effective deterrent. Until today, it had never been used against the Scots. Dear God, but our men were moving slowly. I had to use the flat of my sword to speed our flight. By now, Haxx's volunteers would have caught up with the fleeing Scots and used their horses to separate a pair from the others.

‘Move you fools!'

Approaching the Scottish cavalry, they would have used their horses to knock the pair to the ground. The screams of the two men-at-arms would have been plainly audible to the Scottish horsemen. Such collisions are commonplace in battle and result in injury, although they are not necessarily fatal, but the remainder of the Horse Dance is. At first the Scottish cavalry would not have appreciated that, like all dances, there is both a pattern and a rhythm to its movements. No weapons are used and the horses themselves are the dancers. After felling the two men, the horsemen make small bows to them and retire gracefully away from the prone men. Horses will not usually stand on men or seek to injure them deliberately. It can happen in the course of battle, but it usually occurs by chance and not by design; the Horse Dance, however, moves to a different beat. As the first men retire from the fallen figures, three more riders approach and bow to the men on the ground. Then, one after another, they steer their horses towards them. Their horses are familiar with the steps of the dance and know to trample the men beneath them. They move gently this way and then the other. Finally, in obedience to their rider's soft guidance, they courteously move away to allow the next three riders to take their places, already bowing to the men on the ground as they approach. And so the dance swirls on to the beat of the horses' hooves until the cries of the bloody forms on the ground subside and they remain completely still.

I felt, rather than heard, the Scots charge. The pressure behind me increased and I was jostled as men sought to flee past me. Their horses' flanks were streaming now as their riders desperately tried to outrun the Scots behind them.

Dead God though, we were slow. Already the Scots had sent men ahead of us on both our flanks. In a moment, once we were clear of the Scottish wagons, they would use their outriders to come at us from left and right. Striking at us simultaneously, they would force us back onto the spears of their cavalry behind us. In the open, we would be an easy target.

Frantically, I shouldered my horse forward and turned the direction of our flight back towards the wrecked Scottish wagons at the rear of the column. At least there we would have some protection since the overturned wagons and panicking animals would split the Scots and give Dick Middleton a chance to save us. But we were too late. The Scottish outriders caught us in the left flank as we were still turning. The momentum of their charge pushed the survivors towards the wagons. Without lances, we were outranged by their horsemen. Our small force fragmented into groups of dismounted men madly hacking at the Scottish horsemen. But their horses were fresh and they were quick. As soon as we beat off an attack from one direction, they rode at us from another. Their fury showed in the savage handling of their beasts and their cruel cries of triumph as their barbed spears drove into our horses. Men were falling quickly now as we sought cover desperately.

The air was thick with sweat and the smell of blood as they herded us back to where the dying draught oxen still bellowed mournfully in their traces. A group of four or five Scots rode out quickly from their ambush point behind the overturned wagon.

We turned quickly. Then we were running, leaping over fallen men and dodging the flailing hooves of wounded horses. But the Scots were playing with us. As we emerged from the debris of the column, directly ahead a large body of their horsemen sat waiting. There was a sudden shout and their cavalry began to move into a rough crescent formation.

I sighed as I wearily hefted my sword aloft. The Scots had smoked us out of the potential safety of the column and were set to complete their task. There were only half a dozen of us remaining, but it would be better if the older men stood with me. The younger ones might possibly survive and finish as captives. Before I could arrange this, I felt the drumming of hooves on the turf and, bracing myself, wheeled round.

Middleton's charge swept through the Scots like an immense wave. Attacking from their rear, his troops swept though the Scottish horsemen scattering them in all directions. Some turned to flee, but Dick must have launched a second attack as the scene ahead of me turned into a bloody brawl. Men were flung from their horses. Riderless animals galloped wildly in all directions. As quickly as it had started, it was all over and the horsemen swirled away. The ground in front of us was clear of troops, except for the dead and wounded. We stood with chests heaving and hands shaking. I was covered in perspiration and desperately thirsty. I guessed the others were in the same state.

‘We survived!' the man next to me wheezed incredulously.

The realisation that we would live seemed to come to us all simultaneously and we smiled in disbelief. I cheerfully clapped the shoulder of the youngest trooper and heard the sound of hysterical laughter. But then, only moments after, the whirr of a Scottish arrow.

I grabbed the nearest man.

‘Let's get out of here.'

I led them away hurriedly from the Scottish column.

‘Fall in behind the Scottish wagons!' I told Dick Middleton. ‘Keep pushing them south, but don't attack them!'

He peered down the hill. Slowly the Scottish column had reorganised itself. All the injured beasts had been dispatched and immobilised wagons abandoned. The dead lay unburied.

‘It's moving now,' Dick grunted.

Sure enough, with archers and men-at-arms flanking it, the Scottish supply train was heading south to Berwick.

‘We'll attack again when they come to the end of the moor at the river crossing.'

‘But they still outnumber us. We took casualties,' he reminded me hesitantly.

Ignoring him, I gestured at the abandoned wagons.

‘Burn those and leave nothing for the Scots to take to Berwick. Now I'll join Fennell and you keep herding the Scots towards us.'

He would propel them to the place where I would seek to destroy them completely.

It was Captain Fennell who identified the likely crossing point the Scots would use.

‘They'll bring their wagons over here.'

He pointed to that part of the riverbank which was flatter than the rest.

‘There's probably a natural ford here. Now, how do you want to fight them, my lord?'

It was a good question. With the destruction of their cavalry, we had wounded the Scottish force, but it was not necessarily a fatal blow. Marching over the moors the Scots had sufficient archers and men-at-arms to repel Middleton's men. Had he attacked, their bowmen would have decimated his charge before he could close in and their infantry would have easily finished off any survivors.

Provided the Scottish convoy kept moving across open moorland and remained bunched together, there would be little that Dick could do except skulk after them. He could threaten them but that was about it, particularly since the Scottish archers would not worry about wasting arrows. The wagons would carry numerous arrows for the garrison at Berwick.

But coming to the river the Scots had a problem. Their archers had to counter Middleton's horsemen at all times. If Middleton crossed the river, the Scots had to send their own archers over. Conversely, if Middleton remained on the far side, the Scots would need to send their wagons over with some of their men-at-arms and only move their archers over when everyone else was safely across.

‘Send a messenger to Middleton!' I told Fennell irritably. ‘Under no circumstances is he to cross the river. He should threaten the Scots from the far side of the river and only attack when the enemy is totally confused.'

‘Totally confused?'

‘He'll know what it means,' I said impatiently. ‘Now let's get your archers out of sight.'

‘Where do you want them?'

I pointed to the pine forest south of the crossing.

‘Keep them concealed in there. No one advances until I say.'

He wrinkled his brow.

‘Their scouts will spot us.'

John Fennell's stupidity was making me angry now. Dear God, we still had the majority of the Scottish force to deal with and all he could do was make half-witted observations.

‘What scouts?' I snapped.

He thought for a moment and then smiled broadly.

‘That's true, my lord.' He paused. ‘It's lucky that you destroyed their cavalry first, isn't it?'

I stamped my foot in frustration. His frowning face indicated that further profound pearls of wisdom were to be shared with me shortly.