Games of Otterburn 1388 (20 page)

August 16 - After
Sunrise

Newcastle-upon-Tyne

It was in the King’s hall on the ground floor level that Henry Hotspur and his knights and barons gathered to see to the taking of their morning meal. The leg of pig from the outside Scots was the main course as the English were intrigued and going along with the ambiance of the day.

“What you reckon James Douglas has
workin
’ in that pate of his?” threw out Henry across the table for his gathered few to comment upon.

“You mean besides pig?” asked Redman as a jest.

Nobody laughed.

“Maybe he heard about the king’s letter
sayin
’ to not attack ‘til he arrives,” seriously jabbed Redman.

Henry grimaced at the thought. He wished he had never seen the letter. Had he not seen it he would be free to get rid of Douglas and his whole army, he figured.

The elder Robert Ogle worried aloud where the great Stewart army of Earl Robert was why they were hiding.

Nobody paid attention.

“All in all
there’s
not much more than a thousand at our gate, a vanguard as such,” observed Ralph Eure. “Be easy to rough over that little few.”

“Don’t be under
estimatin
’ those Scotch,” said Ralph Percy. “Soon as you do they’ve got you dead.”

“I would play along with his ‘tourney’ so long as we don’t let it get too far out of hand,” said Lumley.
“They are
cunnin
’ folk.”
He held a piece of the fresh pork aloft impaled on the end of his knife point and added, “This pig might have very well been
wallerin
’ in the mud on my lands in
Durham
two days back.”

“Taste like home cooked pig, does it?” sniped Eure without a smile.

“So you lost some pigs, Lumley, ‘
tain’t
the first time,” growled Matthew Redman.

“We’re
gettin
’ off the subject, gentlemen,” said Henry. “The problem is… what are we fixed to do today?”

“I say go along with the day,” reiterated Sir Ralph Lumley. “I’ll commit my
York
contingent of knights to the… ‘
tourney
’ as they put it.”

“You ain’t concerned?” asked Ralph Percy.

“Not at all!
English can beat Scotch any time and any place!” insisted Lumley.

Sir Ralph smiled. He was looking forward to the challenge for his own reasons.

A squire came to Sir Henry’s shoulder and passed a message to him. He opened it and read it and reported, “Reckon we’ll be
findin
’ out right quick.”

“A word from the Scotch?” asked Redman arching a brow.

“From our warden of the garrison actually, Milords,” said Henry, “Seems we have twenty yeomen ready to take on twenty of our yeomen in a free for all mêlée if we so choose to pick up the gauntlet.”

“They on foot or mounted?” asked Lumley.

“These men are mounted with no spears,” replied Henry.

“I’ll go against his twenty,” announced Lumley putting his head back and looking lofty minded.

“No nobles. No knights,” explained Hotspur rationally. “You cannot be their principal, Milord.”

“No leaders?” spouted Sir Ralph.

“That bastard
Douglas
is
makin
’ up all the rules!” growled Lumley slamming his flagon on the pig bone sloshing his wine over the table.

“Careful, Lumley… That be
Durham
pig, not Scotch pig you’re
a’rilin
’,” Henry said with a
smirky
smile. “Come we’ll make wagers on the games.”

“Which of us, you reckon, is
goin
’ to wager good coin on the Scotch?” sagely asked Sir Ralph.

Nobody wagered at all after that comment.

August 16 - Morning

Newcastle-upon-Tyne

In Front of the West Gate

English warriors were packed two and three thick along the wall walk on both sides of West Gate and as far down as to where the wall turned in both directions. The
Saint George’s
red cross
on a white field flew from the top of one tower of the gate while the Earl of Northumberland’s flag of blue lions rampant on a yellow field was quartered with the three white pikes on a red field of the de Lucy family.

There were a variety of banners and pennons mounted at intervals along the wall top signifying many of the knights who were lodging within.

On the field Adara was adjusting the sword belt of Mungan who was slated to fight in the first planned skirmish of the day.

“Been
doin
’ tourney
e’er
afore?” she asked.

Nineteen other yeomen were being similarly suited up for the challenge.

“Ne’er afore,” he admitted.
“
A’plenty
a regular
fightin
’ though.”

“Yer
lookin
’ good, my friend, best than any other,” she bragged.

Mungan smiled slightly. His size did little to alleviate his haunting fear of fighting before spectators to do killing work.

Adara tied the ribbons to his quilted jerkin down the sides under his arm on both sides. She could tell he was apprehensive about what was supposedly a sham fight but was anything but a sham.

Douglas
rode his horse up to the men readying themselves for the fight.

“I want
ye
men to line up in two rows across and when I drop my sword I want ye to attack as hard as ye can,” he explained.

“We supposed to kill them or just hurt them as we can, Milord?” asked Mungan as Adara was still fidgeting with his ties.

The Scots warriors nearby teased Mungan saying, “Ye need to get kilt so we can have yer bonny wench,
laddie
!”

Mungan frowned. He thought women were bad luck in war anyway and that was not helping.

Douglas
advised, “Wound them if ye can. Kill them if ye must.”

Mungan looked at
Douglas
and nodded his understanding. Events that did not happen according to his training and experiences in warlike circumstances were overtaking Mungan’s confused warrior mind.

Adara turned the large man so that he faced her and whispered so that none other could hear, “Ye are my hero. Ye saved me from the English bastards. I am
yers
for as long as ye want me to be. Weary not about another.”

He grumped a bit but Adara knew her message got to him because he seemed different.

“Line up on that silage field, this end and beside the peasant hovels,” ordered
Douglas
.

Adara quickly checked to see that Mungan had his axe, sword, dagger and buckler then she went up as high on her toes as she could stretch, put her arms around his neck pulling with all her weight and kissed him on the lips.

The men close by hooted insincere encouragement as a jest.

Mungan was a bit embarrassed but it coaxed a smile to his wet lips.

She handed him his helm that he put over his coif of chain mail that also covered his shoulders and tied under his chin with leather strips.

Many of those twenty had to borrow at least one weapon from a fellow warrior to be fully outfitted.

Suddenly the gates opened and out rode Sir Ralph Percy in full regalia. His yellow shield emblazoned with a blue lion rampant theme echoed on his tabard and horse trappings.

James Douglas mounted up and gave his men a last word of encouragement then spurred his horse to meet the young brave impetuous knight who showed up on the field without benefit of an entourage.

“Where’s yer twenty to go against my twenty?”
Douglas
asked wondering if there was trickery in the single knight’ demeanor.

Sir Ralph raised his visor. “Be here directly,” said Percy. “We’ll be
bringin
’ more knights onto the field.”

“What for?” asked
Douglas
already guessing the answer. “Feared we’ll jump on yer twenty and slay ‘
em
?”

“We don’t mind the skirmish but
playin
’ the fool we will not do, Milord,” answered Ralph.

“Bring as ye like,” said
Douglas
, “We have
nothin
’ to hide! Let the games be!”

Douglas
followed his talk with a
great war
whoop and Ralph followed that with his own boisterous whoop.

There was spontaneous cheering from the ground as the whole troop moved a bit closer to the tourney field.

Ralph raised his arm and waved his contingent of knights to sally forth.

From the gate tunnel and across the simple bridge spanning the moat, rode out thirty English knights fully clothed, armored and armed in tourney regalia. They took their place in a line beside the field with their banners whipping in the morning breeze.

The twenty Scots took their place on the silage field.

The twenty better and more uniformly dressed English men-at-arms, similarly armed, walked out and lined up opposite them.