Games of Otterburn 1388 (45 page)

“What are we to report, Milord?” asked the spotter.

“When they’re
comin
’ our way… or wherever in a large contingent,” said John.

“Won’t be this night, Milord,” adjudged the man shifting in his saddle and shading his eyes by cupping his hands on both sides of his face and setting his fingers at his eyebrows.

“I figure it won’t be ‘til in the
mornin
’,” said John. “Probably dawn.”

“Mighty tricky!” exclaimed the spotter.
“Mighty tricky, Milord.”
His horse bowed his head and raised it up again while rippling his muscles seemingly to agree with his rider. It could have also been biting the flies bothering him.

John picked his two men as messengers not only for their riding ability but for the abilities of the horses they rode. He then took his squire and rode ahead to the camp to let James Douglas know what was happening in the north while the remainder of his men walked the reived plunder toward the camp two or so miles away.

August 19 - Afternoon

Blakeman’s Law

It was a relatively hot afternoon on Blakeman’s Law. James Douglas and his men were thankful for the mitigating cool breezes coming overland from the western seas.

Douglas
peeled his chain mail coif from his head and shoulders then he had his two squires David and Simon unfasten the thin strap belts on his leg armor while he loosed the ribbon ties on his surcoat and pulled it over his head. The squires then went to work on the chest armor that was riveted on both sides under the arms. The plate on his arms was next, both upper and lower. He soon stood among the sundry pieces of metal scattered at his still booted feet with his battle trews and his sweat soaked and stinking shirt he had worn since his swim in the
Tyne
River
. He cast off the shirt and threw it aside then donned a fresh washed white linen shirt that did not immediately stick to his bare body. He held his arms out from his shoulders to catch the cooling affects.

“Yer boots, Milord?” asked David pointing to
Douglas
’ feet.

Douglas
was at first reluctant but soon changed his mind and sat on the grass offering his booted foot between the lad’s legs so it could be extracted.

With his bare foot flat on the cooling grass he offered the second foot to the squire.

“Yer lord likes his bare feet,” said Adara as she peered uphill to the
Douglas
tent.

“And ye want
his
boots,” added Mungan almost perceptibly sarcastic.

“Feet get hot and feet get cold,” she quipped, “but if ye got ‘
em
ye can take ‘
em
off or put ‘
em
on as ye see fit to do.”

The bare chested Mungan had no gainsay for that and so kept his mouth shut.

She cuddled her body on the grass under the lean-to shelter and closed her eyes hoping for a lazy drowse.

Mungan did not like the morning’s attack on the tower house as he had nothing more to do than stand with his spear and watch the archers bickering arrows back and forth coming to naught in the end. He liked fighting but that was wasting time and making him temporarily lack witted with no good purpose served.

It was along about that time that lord John Dunbar came riding his horse to James Douglas. Mungan could tell the horse had been ridden hard as John slipped from the saddle but he could not tell anything of the conversation for they talked in low tones saying, “They all appeared to be headed to Harbottle.”

“And ye left spies in a good place?” asked
Douglas
squinting at the brightness of the low sun as he looked up at the standing man. John relieved
Douglas
’ eyes by standing where it cast a shadow over the man’s face.

“We’ll know
quick
enough if they head for here,” replied John confidently.

“Only other place for them to head for is
Carlisle
,” said
Douglas
.
“Too late in the day for
dispatchin
’ a messenger to Robert on that feeble possibility.
Must be thirty-five or forty miles across over to there… That’s
a
l-o-n-g
day of
ridin
’… We’ll see to
sendin
’ somebody at first light.”

“Any of our spies along the trail to
Newcastle
come in?” asked John.

Douglas
shook his head. “Only one I saw brought the message from Northumberland to Hotspur that we intercepted.”

“Ye showed me that one,” replied John as he sat on the ground beside
Douglas
. “I feel like we’re blind here,” admitted John.

“We are blind by just
sittin
’ here
dependin
’ on our spies, I reckon,” declared
Douglas
.

“I want to put a spy on top of that hill yon,” said John pointing to Fawdon Hill. “That blocks our view of the road from
Newcastle
but ye can see a little way down
that
road from the top of
that
hill.

“Good notion,” agreed
Douglas
, “See to it.”

John nodded indicating he would.

Along the barrier and down the hill Sir John Swinton rode his horse minding the deportment of the men and the integrity of the defenses. He remained in charge of the plunder and had made himself comfortable bivouacking at the servant’s camp, so called for they were the ones that tended not only the plundered animals but the knight’s destriers and the regular horses of the men-at-arms and archers as well. The animals were all fenced near the roadway and within the loop of the river.

He dismounted near his tent and his squire, James, immediately appeared as if by magic.

“
Doffin
’ yer armor, Milord?” he asked ready to help with the task.

“
Keepin
’ it on,” said Swinton. “Might yet be
trouble.
”

“Take the saddle off yer stallion, Milord?”

“Just the saddle,” replied the knight. “Leave the rest of the tack just as it is.”

“Aye, Milord,” answered James as he began to work on the loop-buckle of the belly strap.

“We
goin
’ back to
Scotland
tomorrow?” asked James as he dragged the saddle from the back of the horse and laid it on the ground.

“Hain’t had a war council meet on that as yet,” said Swinton. “What’s for victuals?”

“Beef we have… from what was butchered yesterday,” replied the squire.

“Put it on the fire,” ordered Swinton as he sat in a shaded spot on the hill side of the road where most of the tents and other types of quickly-made shelters had been pitched.

He smelled the hot food from the camp followers cook pots. They had come in with Alexander Ramsey’s contingent. That food was mainly made for the servants and lads tending the mixed herd. He hoped his beef would taste half as good as the other smelled.

The more he sat the hotter he became and the hotter he became the more he grew to like his squire’s offering so that he called James over to him and had his armor removed and laid in his tent in proper order in case he had to reharness quickly.

“Yer meat will be ready soon, Milord,” said Squire James.

“Keep yer sword close at hand,” advised Swinton as he buckled his own sword and dagger belts around his surcoat that displayed his arms of identity. He felt as if he weighed much lighter.

The midge population was getting worse. Swinton figured the hoofed animals in the marshland of the loop were stirring up the biting bugs. He swatted and batted the midge-filled air but to no gain. No evidence showed on the palms of his hands as to a single kill.

Bug bites were no different with any of the other camp inhabitants who were made up of men servants accustomed to the tending of livestock and many lads from about eight years and older. Most of them carried bladed tools and weapons of various sorts to handle their day to day tasks but they had no defense against those tiniest of pests.
 

Higher on the crest of Blakeman’s Law in front of a large shelter configured by the captives stood the stoic figure of Sir Aymer de Athol, the Lord of Pointeland who had given himself over to the forces of
Douglas
to save his villeins and castle inmates. He was resigned to the fact that he was a prisoner of the Scots and knew he was taken for reasons of an expected hefty ransom. The scheme was far from new to him as he had ransomed prisoners he had captured in past battles and before
he
himself had been made to pay. He did not like it so much but he knew he would be well treated and protected just the same as the other captives sharing that part of the hillside with him all of whom had sworn to not escape nor give into any rescue. With that assurance the captives were not bound and had some limited liberties about the camp.

Sir Aymer had covered his head with an under shirt so that the hot sun would not bake his lightly tinted skin. He had no weapons and was allowed to wear his surcoat and a belt of personal belongings such as a pouch of herbs and a water skin.

“Sir Aymer,” addressed Earl George as he approached from downhill.

“Milord,” answered Athol noticing the sweat heavily beaded on the part of man’s face showing within the opening of the chain mail coif. “You appear to be ripe for dying of the heat, sir” he said politely.

Being reminded he was hot made him all the hotter and he then and there removed his helm and coif. He slung his locks and beard of the dripping residue and Aymer was glad for not standing
all that
close. “
Ye’re
right Sir Aymer… feel better, I do.”

“Drink more water,” advised the older man

George smiled already knowing he needed to do so. “Ye
bein
’ fed enough?”

“
A’plenty
, Milord,” replied Aymer, “As are the rest of us here.”

George nodded. “If ye have a need for anything let me know.”

“Thank you, Milord,” said Aymer gracefully.