Games of Otterburn 1388 (42 page)

The youth grimaced, opened his pouch and handed the folded and sealed parchment over to the porter.

From the hand of the porter, to the runner, to the steward, the message went until it was grandly placed on the morning table of the twenty-four year old member of the English Parliament and head of the famous influential family of Umfravilles that had thrived throughout the region since William the Conquer.

Lord Thomas was paring an apple and had a thick stack of various parchments spread in front of him for the morning’s scrutiny.

“From whom?” questioned Thomas keeping his eyes on the blade as he made the long strip of peel that disappeared between his opened legs as he sat.

“Northumberland, Milord,” replied the steward.

Thomas waved a finger to indicate he wanted the parchment passed to him.

The steward picked it from the table and handed it to Umfraville whose hand was some two feet away. He placed the apple on the table, impaled the knife sideling the stem then cracked the red wax that was sealing the message and read.

The steward started to leave.

“Wait!” commanded Thomas.

The steward froze in his tracks then turned back toward the table saying, “Milord?”

Keeping his attention on the message he continued, “Get the scribe. We need warrants. We’re going to war!”

“Yes, Milord,” said the steward politely.
“
Goin
’ to war.”

“In
Carlisle
, apparently,” said the lord stoically. “By the end of the day we’re off to war.”

“Yes, Milord,” answered the steward.

“And have food prepare for five hundred
comin
’ from Warkworth this afternoon, too.” He snapped.

“Yes, Milord,” replied the steward once again. He then left and was happy for the opportunity to escape.

Thomas put the missive on the table and returned to the task of apple peeling. Soon he threw the single strip of peel onto the pile of documents and was well pleased with himself for achieving his victory. He then dramatically sliced off a side of the whitish flesh and took it between his teeth right from the blade imagining it as his grand reward.

August 19 -
Noon

Carlisle

The sun seemed hot for the cool reception Archibald and William received as they trailed into the Scot’s camp at
Carlisle
. The stock of English dead that Archibald had laid on the grass at the gate of the castle two days thence was badly stinking.

Since the day before many of the wounded Scots being treated for their wounds were dying at a rapid rate which just added to the overall malaise of indecision yet experienced in the raid.

Archibald rode his horse to where Earl Robert was sitting at the base of an oak tree seemingly wallowing in despondency.

“Back, we are,” announced Archibald as his left foot alighted from the saddle.

“I can see yer back,” muttered Robert, “with a goodly plunder at that.”

Archibald glanced over his shoulder at the herd of animals he had gathered in the short period of time. “We did
a’right
, reckons me,” he said with an odd mixture of pride in his accomplishment and sadness for the degeneration of the camp under the command of Robert who had allowed his poor mood to migrate to the whole camp.

Archibald scanned the horizon to understand the state of their army.
They have lost hope
, he thought.

Across the way was the young man who earlier planned on going home but he seemed to have changed for the worse. The herbwyfe was tending his wounds with crushed yarrow and keeping it covered with a fresh slather of mud and plaited heather found nearby. Archibald could tell at a distance the lad was short for the world.

The earl privately wondered the worth of a herd but he rationalized he was getting long in the tooth and that in itself naturally manifested those feelings of weakness as he imagined. He growled at his thoughts and tried to pass them by so he would not become a victim of such risky silliness.

“I see the English hain’t picked up their dead as yet,” grumped Archibald.

“Too feared,” replied Robert as he stood and leaned his bulk against the trunk of the tree.

“Of what?”

“That it’s a trap and we might kill more,” said Robert with a snarl of a smile on his face.

Archibald way encouraged
to see
the slight ray of hope coming from his peer. “Ye have a plan?”

“None,” came back Robert. “We’ve got no way over that wall and we’ve raided a good deal
here’bouts
.”

“We should have a pig
killin
’, I figure,” said Archibald cheerfully.

“Ye got pigs?” asked Robert, his interest peaked.

Archibald smiled broadly. “We’ll be
a’eatin
’ all but the squeal this eve,
says
me!”

Robert matched Archibald’s smile and nodded his approval.

“I want to send a message into the castle
showin
’ safe passage to collect their dead this day, too!” announced Archibald.

“Good notion that is… as well,” agreed Robert. His whole demeanor had changed within those few moments.

In the last glowing glimpses of the evening sky every Scot in the camp was full of pork and whisky. Many of the ones wounded and knowing they probably would not live out the night considered it a final meal on the earth and they were warmly comforted.

The English did pick up their dead outside the walls of the castle without incident and buried them in a mass grave near Carlisle Cathedral not far away.

Sir Ralph Neville planned no more surprise runs on the camped Scots and held tight to his prayerful notion that his messenger got through to Henry Percy in Northumberland to send him troops to drive the pagans from his gates.

August 19 - Early Afternoon

Otterburn Vicinity

The man who spied against the town of
Otterburn
before James Douglas arrived the day before was riding his horse beside John Dunbar on the south side of the
Rede
River
with fifty raiders behind.

“That bit of wood, yon,” said the spy pointing to a copse just ahead. “That’s where I saw they took the herd several days back.”

John shook his head to let the man know he heard him and pressed ahead.

The whole contingent was severely hampered as they rode among the trees.

“Must be another way in here!” growled John as he hacked at the thick brush with his sword.

“‘
Twas
how I saw them enter,” swore the confused spy.

“Back out!” ordered John.

“I don’t understand!” protested the spy.

“Hain’t me been
a’trickin
’ ye,” growled John. “
Ye’ve
tricked yerself!”

When his last man extracted himself from the bramble laden copse John loudly ordered, “Spread out and look for any cattle tracks whatsoever!”

“They might hear
ye
, Milord,” advised the spy.

“Who gives a shit now!” yelled John, “Surprise is clearly out of the question at this point!”

The spy prudently decided to keep his maw shut.

John Dunbar kicked his destrier away from the poor spy upon
whom
much was dependent. He went along the edge of the tree line looking for clues.

“Tracks
must’a
been washed out by the rain through here two days back, Milord,” said one of his knights coming from the opposite direction.

“
Must’a
,” agreed John then quickly added, “What’s that ye just passed?”

The man reined around and clopped a dozen paces back to see where the bush had an almost imperceptible break in it.

John followed and got from his saddle to get a closer look. “Here’s where they went in walking their animals atop one another so as not to leave too many clear hoof prints.”

“That was smart of them,” said the knight.

“Good trick, I’ll agree,” said John remounting and following his lead.

His knight followed him. “Ye want the rest of our men to come, Milord?”

“Let’s just see if they’re
leadin
’ us to a blind path or not ere we stir them,” said John pragmatically.

The two stalwarts were about twenty-five yards deep on the clear path when an arrow whizzed past John’s head and thudded in the trunk of a close tree.

John and his knight instinctively slid from their saddles and hunkered on the ground to understand the situation.

The wood was quiet as if the arrow had been shot from the bow of a ghost.

John moved ahead wishing he was carrying his own bow. The knight took a slightly different angle as he worked his way through the underbrush to where they thought the shot was made.

John heard labored breathing behind the trunk of a particularly large tree. He froze and looked all around to ascertain possible others ready to strike.

Suddenly the breathing ended with an abrupt gasp!

“He’s just a
laddie
, Milord,” said the knight out loud.

John stood and walked to the other side of the tree where the knight had the youth pinned tight to the bark to the tree with the point of his sword and looking down on him. “Here’s ye a guide to where the cattle’s
bein
’ hid,” he said smiling.