Games of Otterburn 1388 (41 page)

Playing on that hunch Gilbert decided to wait for the
Newcastle
army to arrive as he stood with the spy’s dead horse at his feet. Two or three of the men at a time would sit on the belly of the horse while a dog from a nearby croft arrived and gave the carcass an obligatory round of sniffs.
 

It was not long before Gilbert’s hunch became true as Hotspur’s army was seen coming around a far curve toward the west.

Gilbert got to the back of his horse and parked it in the middle of the narrow roadway.

The first banner he recognized was the blue lion rampant with red labels on the yellow background. ’Tis the Warden of Northumberland,” announced Gilbert. He signaled for the persistent column to hold up.

Hotspur was angered and even resentful by any element impeding his getting to Otterburn but because Gilbert was across the road he had little choice but to draw rein. Most of the others including the horses were thankful for the respite from their relentless pursuit of what most considered Hotspur’s revenge.

“Why did you stop me?!” asked Hotspur abruptly.

Ralph rode his horse to beside his brother.

“This dead horse belongs to a Scotch spy that was
waitin
’ on you to sally by, Milord,” explained Gilbert.

“Who are you?” asked Ralph suspicious of the interruption.

“Sir Gilbert,” he said.
“Warden of the garrison at Pointeland.”

“Passed it back
a’ways
,” said Hotspur, “Who burnt it?”

“
Douglas
, I figure,” replied Gilbert.

“And your lord?” asked Hotspur.

“Taken prisoner, he was… before the fire burnt the castle,” advised the knight. “We are sorely wearied for him,”

“Don’t weary, I’ll be
releasin
’ him when I catch up to
Douglas
.”

“Where is he now?” asked Gilbert simply out of curiosity.

“Somewhere around Otterburn, we figure,” replied the lord.

“That messenger we got to you of any value?” asked Gilbert.

Hotspur broke into a wide grin. “That your
doin
’?”

Gilbert counter smiled and modestly nodded.

“You and your lord will be well rewarded when I return,” said Hotspur seemingly anxious to get moving again.

“Thank you, Milord,” said Gilbert then advised, “best rest your mounts or you’ll not get to Otterburn except by ‘shank’s mare’,”

Hotspur ignored the advice and asked about the rider of the dead horse to avert the subject.

Still alive,” said Gilbert turning in his saddle and pointing to the wood where he last saw the Scot run. “He’s belly shot through and through. He’ll not live long nor go far.”

“You figure there’s more spies to tell the message of our
comin
’?” asked Hotspur.

“There’s more, Milord,” answered Gilbert without hesitation.

Hotspur turned to Ralph and ordered him to get archers on fast horses to go out in front of the advancing column and find the spies and kill them before they have the opportunity to warn
Douglas
that they are on their way.

Hotspur nodded. “Again I am in your debt, Sir Gilbert,” he said then reined his horse about to continue his obsessive vainglorious journey.

Gilbert got to the side of the road and watched as the warriors passed them by. Soon there were eight horsed archers running on one side of the still moving column and moving ahead of the rest.

Behind them on the inside edge of the copse and clinging to the trunk of a close tree, the Scottish archer was holding his bloody belly and saw what he had so anxiously been awaiting and yet he was helpless to complete his assignment in warning Lord Douglas that his mortal enemy was on his way to kill him.

He sunk to the base of the tree and waited to surely die.

The croft dog of opportunity waited with him… but at a distance.

August 19 - Early Morning

Blakeman’s Law

Earl James Douglas was awakened by the crowing of the cocks at the farm on the lower part of the hill where they were camped. He looked about at the darkness on the interior of the canvas tent and acclimated himself to the nature of the day.

He could hear birds communing with one another and men up before he was and talking in low tones about their farms as they sharpened their weapons. Somewhere dogs were barking and running fast for their morning repast. He could tell they had caught the hapless tod by the change of their barks and bawls.

If it is going to rain for the day it’s not started as yet,
he thought and then he stretched long touching the front and rear walls of the tent and sat up on his dank coverlets and smelled a rasher of bacon cooking somewhere nearby. He guessed a pig got butchered overnight.

One of his squires, Simon
Glendowyn
, upon hearing his movements spoke to him through the tent canvas, “Milord, are ye in need?”

“I’m aright,” said James poking his head through the flap slot. “Who’s
cookin
’ the bacon?”

“I made them cook some for
ye
, Milord,” admitted the youth. “Got camp bannocks, too!” he proudly announced.
“For yer battle day.”

His plan to attack
Otterburn
Tower
that morning had almost escaped his memory. He stood tall outside the tent where his quartered banner lifted and drooped in the light breeze. He touched Hotspur’s pennon dangling on the pole beneath the flag and wondered if that bit of craftsmanship was enough to get Hotspur beyond the
Newcastle
walls.

Earl George came to
Douglas
asking, “How do you want to handle the day’s actions?”

The eastern sky was showing light.

“I want you to run practices on our plans we laid out last night,” explained
Douglas
.

“I can do that,” replied George.

Simon returned with a three pound slab of thick sliced bacon varying in cooked degrees of barely warm to burnt crisp perched on a piece of found wood. “Milord,” said his squire upon presentation.

His second squire, David Coleville, brought six or seven bannocks from a separate campfire.

“Care to join me, George?” asked
Douglas
.

“Smells damned good, I’ll admit,” he said drawing his dagger to separate the slices completely through.

The two earls stood and ate while the squire held the piece of wood before them.

Douglas
continued his direction between bites explaining, “Tell John, I want him to take men and the spy that Ramsey sent to the town yesterday and see what we can raid and reive from this vicinity.”

“I can do that,” he said ferreting out from his gums and teeth a part of the wood the bacon was sitting upon and spitting it onto the grass.

“I’ll take two hundred men, mostly archers, and set the tower afire,” continued
Douglas
.

“What about Hotspur?” asked George
thoughtfully.

“We’ll know soon enough if and when Hotspur is on his way,” came back
Douglas
. “We have spies out from Pointeland to here. We’ll surely have a good enough warning about that.”

Having only two slices of the thick bacon left perched atop the piece of wood he waved the food away indicating he had had enough which delighted the two squires beyond words as they knew the earl wanted them to share in the meal. “Keep the dogs off it,” said
Douglas
as a parting bit of advice.

“Four bannocks left as well, Milord,” said David who was holding the warm bannocks in his bare hands.

“Ye two
be
back directly to fit my armor,” ordered
Douglas
without a smile.

They were beyond earshot but already knew their expected tasks.

“Good lads, they are,” chipped in George finishing off the last of his bannock wrapped bacon.

“Best there is,” exclaimed
Douglas
beaming with pride.

August 19 - Morning

Harbottle
Village

The rider skidded up hard to the outer gates of the walls surrounding the Umfraville mansion in Harbottle. He leapt fast from his mount and went straight to the porter beside the large iron gates.

“A message from Lord Henry Percy, Earl of Northumberland to Lord Thomas Umfraville, Lord of
Redesdale
!” announced the young man loudly and with vigor.

The old porter looked up casually not sharing the youth’s enthusiasm and said, “Take your message, I will,” holding his open hand outward.

“Was
expectin
’ to give it to the lord himself,” said the lad sorely.

“I was
expectin
’ a hundred pound
sterlin
’ to appear in me pouch but it ain’t happened as yet,” said the man then wriggled his fingers to show his frustration.

Two large persuasive guards moved closer to the messenger.