Games of Otterburn 1388 (21 page)

There was a great howling and cheering from the wall walk seeing their men on the field.

The two sides stood about fifty feet away from each other in the field that was knee high with barley and oats. Many times such grains were referred to as corn.

Hotspur watched from a select position atop the wall. He was ever wary of the Scots but did not want to appear in anyway fearful of his enemy. It was part curiosity and a larger portion of stubborn pride that held him fast to his chivalric code which was exactly what James Douglas was counting on.

Douglas
rode to a midpoint and drew his sword

The field and surrounds grew eerily quiet in anticipation. The caws of crows were heard protesting the taking of their cornfield for such foolishness, so they thought.

Holding it high, both sides watched as his sword blade was decisively swooshed to the feet of his horse.

The war was on. The crows nervously jumped and flew from their branches as the cheering, hooting din of the crowds suddenly exploded in every hollow of the neighborhood.

 
Douglas
backed his horse to get beyond the expected battle area and took his stand beside Sir Ralph Percy.

Mungan ran slower because of his bulk so there were others engaged before he reached the knot of fighting men. There was a large English warrior holding back and looking straight at Mungan. The equality of height and mass prompted the challenge and it was understood by Mungan.

Mungan however paused and took a moment to bash a close by English on the helm with the flat of his bearded axe. The man dropped immediately to the ground as the first fallen.

Groans of disapproval were heard from the wall.

Mungan paid no attention but moved immediately to the man who challenged him with his eyes.

Mungan saw that he had a strong metal buckler that was better than his own well tortured one and instantly decided to not dull his sword on it.

The Englishman came at Mungan with his sword and swung a side blow to Mungan’s midsection.

Mungan blocked it with his buckler and swung it out throwing the big man off balance then took the head of his axe and smashed his face with the top of it. Blood spurted in every direction and the big English warrior fell to the ground writhing in pain and holding his face.

The Scots were cheering loudly.

Mungan looked across to his liege for instruction.

Douglas
intentionally gave no indications.

Mungan grabbed the man’s bloody hand and dragged him to the edge of the field beyond harms way.

He looked at the man and looked at his buckler. He took his own bent buckler off and threw it on the ground and took the better one off the man’s arm and put it on his own. There was no complaint.

The other yeomen were hard at fighting hand-to-hand with swords, axes, and daggers.

Mungan walked back into the mêlée battle and chose another to confront. He transferred his axe to his left hand where he wore the buckler and drew his sword as he came to a smaller man that seemed to be spryer than the last.

The smaller man took the first swing that caused Mungan to deflect the blow with his buckler. Mungan swung back against the English buckler. The man then took a parry swing at Mungan’s head. Mungan moved back quick enough to avoid a fatal strike that instead swiped only the air under his chin.

Adara screamed and Mungan hearing it returned him to his war mentality. He shoved his axe into the man’s chest and with one great blow of his sword had cut through the man’s chain mail and into his neck.

The wound was not deep. The man was dazed but came back on Mungan again trying Mungan’s tactic of jamming the head of the battleaxe into his face. The strike was hard to parry and Mungan was hit on the nose-piece of his helm.

Mungan stumbled back in shock and pain.

Adara screamed again. That time Mungan did not hear her encouragement to fight back.

The Englishman unwillingly went to his knees while holding his neck, blood oozing from between his desperate fingers trying to hold it in.

Mungan watched from one knee as the yeoman died in front of him. He wondered if he would die from loss of blood. He looked at the other combatants on the field. Most of the Englishmen were on the ground. A few were not moving. Mungan figured them for already dead. Others were up on one elbow the other hand in the air as a sign of submission. The Scots were faring not much better as only two of them were still standing while the remainder laid about either dead or submitting.

Mungan came to his feet.

The Scots cheered again.

The wall was eerily silent.

Sir Ralph had gone dumb as well when he came to mid field. He raised his hand as a signal and awaiting men came from the gate bridge to collect their dead and wounded.

“Yer Scots have won fair, sir,” said Ralph chivalrously while holding his anger for the poor losing.

James Douglas bowed to indicate he accepted Sir Ralph’s concession. “And yer men fought admirably,” he answered and meant it.

Mungan and the two other victors walked proudly in front of their fellow warriors with their swords and axes strongly fisted and waving.

“Ye, sir, pray choose our next skirmish?” said
Douglas
graciously.

“How about you… and me?” proposed
Ralph.

“Think of it,
laddie
… if one of us would kill the other in single combat we would have a war on our hands that I have no interest in
fightin
’,” explained Douglas in a quiet voice, “I ask that these games continue in the spirit I have come to your gate… for the honor of the tourney.”

Ralph huffed and gritted his teeth inside of his helm but could not fight a man who refused to fight him. “I suppose I must be content, sir,” said Ralph as politely as he could manage the words from his quivering angry lips.

“And yer choice of next event?” asked
Douglas
.

“I will send a messenger!” he spoke as he curtly pulled the reins on his horse, wheeled and set spur for the gate.

The English knights remained as the English and Scots men-at-arms’ broken bodies were taken from the field.

The Scots were taken from the field and their wounds treated as best as people not medically trained could do.

Mungan went to
Adara,
his jerkin was doused with an intermixture of his and others blood. He removed his helm and she took one look and said, “Broke yer nose, ye did.”

He nodded he agreed. “Can ye fix it?” he asked knowing it was going to hurt like hell.

“Afore this, I have,” she answered, “Want me to try?”

“I do,” he said with a grimace.

She sat him upright and placed her bare feet in the grass on either side of his body then bent over and fingered the broken nose bones. Putting two fingers in his nostrils and with other fingers and two thumbs holding the outside of his nose she made a deft snap. There was a quaking, tear enhanced, scowl from Mungan but it was done.

She tore a patch or two of cloth from the bottom of her dress and ripped them some more and packed his nostrils tight.

“
That
ought’a
do
it,” she commented calmly and sat beside him. It wasn’t long before she moaned a long, sad sounding sigh then came forth with a casual mention, “Couldn’t get the boots off
none
of
them
dead English, could ye?”

He
laid
back in the grass and said not a word.

She wriggled her toes in the air and giggled.

He pretended to be asleep.

She turned over on her belly and whispered in his ear through the blades of grass.

His eyes sprang open wide.

August 16 - Morning

The Tower,
London

Anne awoke early and lay quietly.

She could feel her husband’s nude warm body tucked tight to hers and she snuggled deeper into the coverings.

“You are my favorite consort,” he said as he opened his eyes a bit.

“And you are my favorite king,” she returned.

The young couple kissed passionately and went under the coverlets where they were all alone in a world of warmth and opulence.

He ran his hands over her well proportioned body and took her nipples one at a time into his mouth and gentle ran the tip of his tongue across the tops as he caressed her breasts each in turn then moved down her body. She heaved and sighed at his every sensual touch and move.

He loved the idea of delighting her nakedness and was thereby pleasured himself.

She ran her hands over his back as he slipped inside of her and pushed deep.

She softly squealed with enchantment and grabbed his buttock pushing him in deeper.

Their breaths came quicker as the sensations for both seemed to meld into a single entity pleasuring itself.

The room and all of the surroundings faintly disappeared in a splendor of indescribable ecstasy.

God was in his heaven and they too abided there.

It was a while that they lay in each other’s arms bathed in ephemeral light.

Within the half hour Richard got to his feet, went to the window and pulled the heavy drapes back on the tall stained glass window.

She watched as the sunlight streamed through the clear portions of the window and across his beautiful lithe body. It was not athletic but to her it was a perfect body. She was in love and happy despite their overt royal troubles.

He opened the drapes wider and the sun poured across the bed and her bare breasts.

He turned back to look at his lover of seven years. He smiled and whispered, “I love you, Anne.”

She smiled and replied, “I love you, Richard. You are the most kind and gentle king I have ever known or have been told about.

He seemed pleased for beyond the walls of that one suite of rooms he was a pretender. He was twenty one years old and had been king for eleven of those years. He had put down a peasant’s revolt when first the crown was thrust upon his small head and that endeared him to his nobles. The peasants wanted to abolish serfdom, the nobles, who more or less owned the land, of course, did not want it abolished hence the revolt. The rebels burned buildings and yet the young king held them in check and strengthened his own political power.