Games of Otterburn 1388 (24 page)

“Ye do like me, don’t ye?”

Mungan shrugged his big shoulders and wondered how he really did think about her. He liked lying half naked in the wood with her but he never liked her screaming, even though that did come in handy every once in a while he would admit… but only to himself.

James Douglas sat his horse beside George Dunbar when John Dunbar rode to their side.

“I think they’re tired of the sham fights,” said John bluntly.

“Got to hie out of here, ye reckon brother?” opined George.

“In the morn’s soon enough,” added
Douglas
. “Reckon Hotspur’s not as hot as I figured him for.”

He had no more gotten the words from the tip of his tongue when at the top of the tower a trumpet sounded that sounded like Gabriel the
Archangel
was announcing the end of the world.

“What ye reckon they’re up to now?” asked George.

Before any opinions were said the wide double gates to the gate tunnel swung wide and English men-at-arms on foot started pouring out.

“Got yer war!” said George. “Do we scatter or fight?”

“Get our men fixed to fight!” ordered
Douglas
, his eyes focused on the gate and the oncoming warriors.

George was pleased with
Douglas
’ decision and set spurs to his destrier.

The Scots did not have to wait for Earl George or John to come tell them to gird themselves for battle. They already had jumped to their feet and were choked with adrenalin as they clamored for their weapons and what little armor they had taken off and casually laid about.

The English warriors kept coming from the gate tunnel.

Douglas
did not move from the center of the silage field. He became more fascinated with the disposition of the men as they sallied from within the town walls to taking up a defensive position on their end of the field.

John came to
Douglas
. “We’re mostly ready,” he reported.

“I think they’re out to scrimmage,” said
Douglas
.

At the top of the wall there was plenty of laughter and
Douglas
knew he was right.

Get a like number of men lined up who are equally armed,” ordered
Douglas
smiling broadly. He then shook his fist and laughed back at the top of the wall indicating he was accepting their challenge.

Sir Henry Percy glared down at James Douglas on the field. He had come to despise his rival within that one day. He was far from the notion of trust and so his imagination took charge of his suspicions. He wanted to send all of his men out to kill all of the Scots but his reservation resided in that single piece of parchment from King Richard.

He was waiting, so he rationalized, but in the meantime there would be no harm to put enough men on the field in a friendly mêlée’ scrimmage to perhaps goad the Scots to commit to a full fledged battle. The scrimmage was shaping up to be anything but friendly and none of the parties were fooled by the pretences.

“You sure these are your best men-at-arms?” questioned Hotspur openly as the nobility gathered at the wall walk to watch the skirmish.

“They are my best one hundred,” bid Sir Ralph Lumley of
York
.

“And my best seventy,” Sir Matthew Redman gutturally growled, almost daring Hotspur to challenge his opinion or his men’s ability.

“And my fifty best, Milord,” chimed in the older Sir Robert Ogle. “Good men all on the field, I’d say,” he added as an attempt to calm the contentious boil.

“Is the rest of our army standing by inside the gate?” asked Hotspur working a kind of mental check list.

“Under the command of your brother, Milord,” responded Sir Ralph Eure.

Hotspur curled his lip and gave a brief nod to show he was pleased that his orders had been carried out to the letter. He looked back toward the far end of the field where the haphazard Scots were still getting into position. “Your commander knows the signal?” asked Hotspur.

Lumley stepped closer to Hotspur. “He knows.”

“Then cut the rope,” ordered Hotspur.

“But the Scots, Milord…?”

Hotspur clipped Lumley’s protest short. “Now, sir
!...
give your signal!”

Lumley reluctantly drew his dagger from its scabbard and began sawing the tight rope wound around the merlon of the wall top. The first ring of the rope was cut releasing enough slack that the dead man at the other end of the rope jumped a bit.

The Scots were still positioning themselves, tightening belts and such. They saw the almost imperceptible jump of the dead man on the wall and considered it a sign of the corpse to start the fight.

They all at once war whooped and started their charge.

Douglas
turned in surprise.

Hotspur yelped, “Cut the damned rope now!”

Ralph Lumley sawed faster at the second strand of the rope wishing he had sharpened his dagger beforehand.

Finally it was cut through.

The hanged man and his dangling lash seemed to float endlessly in the air as he fell to the moat water below.

The Scots had already closed a good portion of the gap by the time the English signal to start the fight splashed the water.

Hotspur was livid and pounded the stone in front of him with his gauntleted fists while keeping his eyes fixated on the field below.

The English started their charging run but barely got going when the Scots hit them hard driving them back the short distance to the moat.

The English warriors behind not wanting to get pushed into the water spread out to the sides of the mêlée.

The Scots did not realize what was happening until they started getting attacked from behind. The Scots had managed to get themselves surrounded.

Hotspur became giddy.

James Douglas could see very few of the surrounded Scots. His jaw tightened when he said, “Prepare the rest of the men. This could get bad!”

Without a word George wheeled his horse and went back to where the remaining two hundred or so men-at-arms and most of four hundred archers were busy cheering and hooting their fellow Scots in the sham battle.

It was apparent from the beginning that sham was not a good word to describe what more resembled the depth of hateful war.

The few knights among the Scot’s men-at-war were quick to realize their dire position. The ones fighting the English on the moat side encouraged their men to push harder. They pushed rather than slashed and it was not long before fighting men were wet in the sewer moat. Their armor quickly went from asset to liability as the weight kept them from the surface.

Hotspur was livid again shouting orders from the top of the wall that could not be heard from the silage field and wondering why no one was paying him mind.

Douglas
nudged his horse forward a few yards.

His reserve men crept up with him.

Within the mêlée blood was flying in every direction as dead and wounded men served as stumbling stones for those still on their feet.

The mixture of moans and screams and cursing and the clashing of steel against steel were the basis for the din of the battle. To a voyeur it was
gut
wrenching. As a participant it was an indescribable horror. Only anger and skill kept the warriors upright.

If chivalry ever had a place on
that
field it certainly was the first fatality of the skirmish.

Hotspur noticed Douglas and his men creeping up like a stalking cat. “Our reserve ready?” he asked Lumley who was distraught over watching personal friends and men he knew falling underfoot.

Lumley was pensively quiet.

Hotspur turned to Ralph Eure seeking an answer.

“Ready, Milord,” he replied immediately.

“Stand hard by,” he ordered.

“Yes, Milord,” said Eure looking down the stone steps curving around the tower to the flagstone street below. Hotspur’s brother looked up the steps and saw Eure looking down and wondered if he was about to get the signal to attack.

Eure nodded no.

Ralph Percy took a deep breath of disappointment and glumly stared straight ahead at the closed and barred gate. His three thousand awaiting troops barely noticed their lord’s annoyance.

The Scots pushed the mêlée away from the wall and fiercely fought their way to a breakout then turned to fight their opponents in a more organized way.

The Scot side cheered loudly.

The wall was silent.

The blood letting went on longer. Warriors on both sides were tired and making irrational mistakes.

A good third of the fighters were on the ground
either dead
, dying or too wounded to continue. A wound of any sort could easily get infected and so claim a kill due to the battle even several months later. Counting bodies was far from an accurate way to determine winners in a war battle but in a skirmish it was the only way to consider.

James Douglas had had enough of the fight. There were far more of his Scottish soldiers alive than the English. It was obvious they were the winner of the skirmish.

Douglas
galloped around the still fighting men to the base of the wall. He loudly shouted up directly to Hotspur, “Time to count the up-standers!”

Hotspur pretended to not hear.

“Stop the fight, Milord,” pleaded Ogle. “We have clearly lost this sham.”

Hotspur turned with what seemed to be fires in his eyes and snapped, “Who’s side are you on?!”

Ogle was stunned at his liege lord and had no answer to the asinine question.

Hotspur realized his error and immediately left the wall walk without another word so conceding the contest to the Scots without admitting defeat aloud. He was leaving that dishonor to Sir Robert Ogle who got the distinction just because of his moral judgment tempered by his longer life experiences and not simply raw ambitious emotion.

Ogle followed Hotspur down the steps and commandeered the first horse of one of his men and climbed aboard. “Open the gate!” he ordered. He looked around to see Ralph Percy still at the ready and said to him, “We have lost this skirmish! Stand your men down.”

Ralph’s mouth sank even lower. His thin youthful beard was wet with sweat from either excitement or anxiety. Robert Ogle did not know.

The gatekeepers pushed open the gates and Ogle rode across the already down drawbridge and onto the field. He was met by James Douglas who definitely noticed the large contingent of men waiting just inside the gate and ready to come forth at the bid of any order.

“Let’s count the up-standers,” said Ogle honorable.

Douglas
nodded his agreement and the two of them rode among the surviving men who had been fighting the mêlée battle and separated the armies. Few were not happy with the abatement as the rest were bone tired in body and of the wholesale killing.