Games of Otterburn 1388 (55 page)

“Same for me, my friend,” replied Redman lowering his lance spear.

“Reckon we’ll see who gets to be whose prisoner,” said William lowering the face shield on his helm. He then realized Redman had no helm at all.

He held his hand to cease and opened his helm then wriggling his head from the protective gear threw it to the side.

“Now!” said William proudly.

Redman smiled and nodded then again lowered his spear.

William started the charge and Matthew was but a beat behind. In the early morning stillness there was a shattering clash of spear points against metal shields as the two knights had their initial run.

William wheeled to see Redman on the ground drawing is sword.

He hit his destrier’s ribs once again with his spear held downward.

Matthew jumped at the last second and slashed the oncoming spear with his sword gapping it so bad William knew it was no longer useful as a weapon.

William drew his sword and jumped from his stirrups. He went strongly against Redman working his sword in an overhead manner and knocking Matthew to the grass.

Once more he raised his sword.

Matthew looked up and saw the blade glinting in the sunlight and knew it was done. His fingers released his sword handle as he raised his left hand saying, “I see I am your prisoner, Milord.”

“Indeed ye are,” agreed William sheathing his broad blade. “Indeed, ye are.” He held out his hand to help Matthew to his feet. The two men looked into each other’s eyes, each wondering about their new relationship.

“I have business in
Newcastle
,” spoke Redman.

“But ye are my prisoner. That is yer most important business,” said William hoping things would not turn ugly. As a man he liked him even if he was English… he seemed honorable enough.

“If I am allowed to go freely to
Newcastle
and then along to Berwick where I live I will bring you your ransom to wherever you so designate in
Scotland
or elsewhere, sir,” bargained Redman.

“I will agree to that if ye but give me
a pretty pence
at this moment and the rest within, say, a fortnight from this day?” countered William.

“A fortnight will do, Milord,” agreed Redman removing his gauntlet and pushing his bare hand into his leather pouch to find as shiny
a pence
as he would have. “This one
do
?” he asked holding the coin at arms length.

William smiled. “I’m sure,” he said taking the coin without looking.
“Bond money for the rest.”

“And how much will the rest be,” said Matthew arching a brow.

“Ye set yer own ransom, sir,” he said. “I get what ye have.”

“I understand,” said Redman, “and pay I will.”

“I know,” replied William picking his helm up from the ground and climbing back aboard his destrier.

Redman looked at the horse that had run his faster one down.

“Want to sell your horse?” asked Redman still standing on the grass.

“Not to ye and not on this day,” said William smiling. “Ye got no money what hain’t mine
a’ready
.”

Redman shook his head and smiled for William was right.

“A fortnight, my home in Lothian,” reminded William.

“I swear I will be there,” said Redman getting into the saddle of his own horse.

“Ye can keep yer own horse,” quipped William then he trotted off back toward Blakeman’s Law satisfied of his achievement.

John Dunbar had for much of the night directed and participated in the rigorous battle. He left his brother George in charge as he went up the hill toward the camp to rest a bit and get a hand of victuals. He was accompanied by Mungan and four other men-at-arms who had been by his side for all the night.

Sir John Maxwell met the man half way up saying, “Just got a report in from one of our scouts.”

“What about?” asked John not missing a pace toward his goal.

“English are leaving out the back, Milord,” said Maxwell.

John stopped and looked Maxwell in the eyes. “Leaving
?...
As in retreating?”

“‘
Ppears
to be,” answered Maxwell. “Or
desertin
’,
could be.”

“Ye
e’er
heard of
desertin
’ in an orderly manner?”

“
Nae
, Milord,” he replied dropping his eyes.

“And yet they still got plenty of men to make us think we still have a full war
goin
’ on,” said John more to himself that to any around. To Maxwell he then ordered, “Go find my brother within the battle and tell him we have a problem. I need to see him!”

“Aye, Milord,” replied Maxwell and ran downhill as fast as he could manage.

Mungan saw Adara milling about near the surgeon’s tent and he worked his way until he was standing over her as she was helping a wounded man drink a cup of water.

She recognized his boots and she began to shake. Her eyes went up his bloody clothes until she saw his buckler and she let out a squeal that hurt the ear drums of everyone in the vicinity.

Mungan clapped the palms of his hands over his ears and smiled. He had missed her highland shriek for all the night and there were times he thought he would never hear it again and yet, there he stood.

Without thinking she leapt from her crouching position on the ground to
clinging
her arms around his neck and her legs girdling his middle while placing fully on his bloody lips kisses interlaced with a plethora of giggles.

Her head suddenly jerked back and with a serious mouth said, “Ye hurt?”

“Everybody else’s blood,” he said smiling, “I no dead!”

She kissed him more as he wrapped his heavy arms around her tiny waist. “Told ye to wait in the wood,” he reminded her.

Her brows quickly peaked as she slipped herself to the ground and boldly and succinctly announced, “That was the most dangerous place of all! – Folks were kilt in there all the live-long night!”

Mungan grunted. He was happy she had survived the bath of rampant blood.

Not far from the reunion sat Sir Henry brooding over his capture and his loss of pride and fortune. He sat unbound for he had given his oath.

Nevertheless, John Montgomery sat not far away keeping his eye on his captive and thinking of the castle he was going to build with his ransom money.

Henry, on the other hand, fixated on a single object down hill no more than forty feet and at the entrance to Sir James Douglas’ tent where Hotspur’s prideful pennon hung on a banner staff and moving ever so innocently in the light warm breeze.

He thought
Douglas
had arranged the torture personally and it gnawed at his belly more than his hunger that was due to his refusal to eat.

When George got to his brother John they hugged as brothers do to celebrate their continued life on the earth.
 
Then John told George about the withdrawal of the English foot and knights back to
Newcastle
.

“By God, they’re
gettin
’ away?” exclaimed George.

“Lost the battle, they figure,” John opined.

“Let’s take a portion of our knights and assign a contingent to each
scavengin
’ party to hit them on the road at various points,” suggested George.

“How many ye figure?” asked John.

“As many as we can spare,” came back George, “
‘cause
I’m
fixin
’ to run these English bastards…
off the land!
”

John smiled for he realized the squeeze strategy George had in mind. “Give me a bit of time to get our men together and on the far side. Then run the
bastards
off the land!”

George returned the smirk.

John handed him two twisted pieces of dried meat and a fresh skin of water which he gladly took and repaired to the still raging battle below with some plans on how to scare the shit to the britches of the English there still fighting who were aware they had no backup replacements.

It was a retreat strategy on the part of the English with the shell of a fragile egg the only thing that stood in the way of a clearly defined victory for
Scotland
.
 

August 20 - Morning

Along the
Newcastle Road

It was the brothers, John and Walter Sinclair who led the first of the scavenging parties across the tops of the hills following the road out of
Otterburn
Village
.

The hunters could see the retreating English army, the bulk of which was no further along than
Elsdon
Village
some three miles away from Blakeman’s Law with scattered groups of frightened footmen beyond that village.

John Sinclair drew rein and Walter came to his side.

“
Yon’s
the first of them,” said John pointing downhill and to his right.

What they saw was the first group led by Sir Ralph Eure of the hastily planned withdrawal of the English to try to avoid an uncontrolled massacre as they retreated.

“Do we get ahead of them?” asked Walter, the younger brother.

“We’ll give them a wee toot now,” answered John cunningly smiling. He pulled his hunting horn from behind his arm and with his contingent following suit they set up a cacophonous racket.

Down on the road Sir Ralph halted to listen. He instinctively knew it to be the Scots on the hunt but did not know anything beyond that.

“Yonder they are!” said a man from the rear of the fractional English contingent.

The men in Eure’s command looked up the hill to plainly see the Scots looking down on them.

“Dangerous bastards,” growled Eure.