Games of Otterburn 1388 (57 page)

“Let the brave through!!” shouted Skirlaw as the escaping crowds thickened so that he had made little progress.

The bishop growled to display his aggravation but secretly was glad for the blockage of his progress. His pretense would never be recorded for the annals of history and he knew if he was not killed in combat on that day he too would not remember his deepest thoughts that nagged at his rational mind at that moment.

At length Boynton spoke up saying, “Your Grace, your men behind you are not nearly so many as once they were.” He had hoped he had couched his words so that all ownership of the condition was placed on the shoulders of the bishop.

The bishop jerked his head back along the road whence they had just traveled and saw that indeed his loss of armed men had seriously eroded. It was the
Newcastle
desertions all over again and suddenly it seemed to him that there were so few anymore who were willing to fight for the glory of God’s causes that he felt alone in his ride toward the Scottish army. He drew rein and came to a state of prayer there in the midst of it all.

Suddenly he was jarred from his malaise by Thomas Boynton poking him on the shoulder and saying, “We can go on now, Your Grace.”

Skirlaw shook his head as if he had napped in the saddle and looked up. The road was clear. “Where’s the Scotch?!” he asked almost as if it was a new day.

“Yon ahead, Your Grace,” answered Boynton with a smile hoping that none of the blame for the disappearance of the lattermost troops would rub off on him. He had seen the Scots on the crest of the hills above. He wondered why they had not attacked the contingent and took that as a good sign. He also knew the Scots many times moved along the back side of the hill leaving only a few on the open ridge so that an enemy had no notion as to their actual numbers. On the other hand, they just might be only the few he had observed.

Walter Skirlaw again dug his spurs into his destrier’s rib flesh moving toward Blakeman’s Law. Sir Thomas wondered about that as well but he had little recourse but to follow for the bishop held his destiny for the afterlife firmly in his hands and he did not want to do anything to upset that current delicate balance in the mind of the bishop.

On Blakeman’s Law, George had gotten the scout’s report that the bishop was on his way and so did prepare for his arrival.

George had little more than nineteen hundred men still alive and a full two hundred of them were wounded so they had no way to participate in a battle of any manner.

Three to four hundred of his men were still out over the road to
Newcastle
scavenging prisoners while another fifty or more were helping Maxwell with the grim task of body sorting on the battlefield.

He left the great lot of English prisoners guarded by another four hundred of his men and that left a very thin line of Scottish spearmen and knights to form his defenses.
 

To serve as a flanking measure Earl George did get Maxwell’s fifty to lay low in the wood beside the battlefield where
Douglas
had emerged during the battle to flank Hotspur’s fighting force.

His less than one thousand men lined the inside of the wattle fence and pushed their bloodied spear-points over the top and patiently waited for the arrival of the Bishop of Durham and his estimated three thousand man army to fight again over the same ground that still was littered with the dead.

Nevertheless the Scots stoically waited.

Skirlaw passed through Otterburn at a trot, slowing only long enough to get the sign from the top of the tower house that the Scots were further up the road. With every hoof-beat of his horse Skirlaw became more determined to overcome the cunning Scots and win the day for
England
.

As the contingent continued on toward Blakeman’s Law the more dead he found cluttering his way to where it was hard to keep the horses from having to step on the dead men whether they were prone to it or not. Some of the horses and riders were lost due to such stumbling.

Suddenly the ears of the bishop perked as he heard the voices of the thousand and more hunting horns
blaring
their angry din of discontent against his arrival.

He hesitated for only a moment but then continued in his quest against not only the Scots but his own drama he had clashing within himself.

Just as suddenly as the horns had started they fell to silence.

The bishop did not know whether to be relieved or wary but he did not lessen his resolute pace.

Within minutes he arrived at the eastern entrance to the battlefield and halted without warning. Boynton and the following knights spread out on both sides of their commander and to a man were horrified at the deliberate carnage before them.

On the far side of the field and up the hill a bit stood the Scots, still stoic and still prepared.

George ordered the hunting horns to again blow. Not only from the front line but the men holding the English prisoners in check began blowing their horns and the scouts on the hill and the returning scavenger troops within earshot took up the horn as well.

For Bishop Walter Skirlaw the noise was becoming unbearable. His mind harkened back to
Durham
a few days thence when he heard the same cacophony seemingly coming from a bank of fog covering the town. He remembered when the fog lifted the streets below him were littered with the dead and wounded fomenting guilt that still racked his tottering mind.

His eyes dashed from the line of Scots to the massacre before him and back again. His ears were assaulted by the horn blasts. He looked across to his own knights and visualized them as dead men riding. He looked behind him to see more dead men.

He suddenly clapped his gauntleted hands over his ears and squeezed his eyes tight shut but his brain shattered his heart and he screamed to the top of his lungs as the tortured soul that he, within a single moment, became.

The bishop abruptly opened his eyes wide and his mouth quivered his orders only loud enough for Sir Thomas Boynton to hear the one word, “Withdraw!”

Boynton nodded he had heard and took the reins to the bishop’s horse and tugged it around shouting loudly, “Withdraw!!”

There were few of the bishop’s men who grumbled as most were reluctant to add their blood to what was clearly a Scottish victory. They had the field and the momentum. They lacked superior numbers but seemed to have overcome that handicap with courage, endurance, strategy and a great deal of just being of determined Scottish blood.

As the bishop’s army of something far less than three thousand turned to leave.

The horns became louder and their collective sound was gradually replaced by equally deafening victorious hoots of joy.

August 20 - Early Afternoon

Blakeman’s Law

All of the Scots were bone tired and took advantage of either a lull in the battle or the end of it. Sir John Maxwell and his crew continued the search of mangled bodies to separate the Scots from the English and find Sir James Douglas. There were others who were gathering armor, weapons and any other detritus that may prove to be of value to the Scots as they moved forward.

It was one of those gathers who had his arms wrapped around various pieces of clothing and weapons that Maxwell recognized the distinctive sword hilt of James Douglas.

“Where did ye get this sword?” asked Maxwell pulling the long stout weapon from the midst of the bundle.

“Yon,” answered the man tossing his head toward his right shoulder.

John handled the sword as if it were already a sacred relic. “Show me exactly where,
laddie
,” he ordered calmly.

“Aye, Milord,” said the young man as he dropped his bundle onto the bloody ground and turned to find the spot where he had picked up the sword with little thought as to its meaning.

The pair stepped carefully through the carnage with already blood soaked boots, the searcher lead while Maxwell anxiously followed while he cradled the Douglas sword in the crook of his arm and held the hilt in his hand.

Close to the far side of the battlefield they came to a place where the searcher pointed to the ground and said, “Here, Milord. Here’s where I found the sword.”

Maxwell looked and saw simply a mash of bone, blood and sinew lying together until his eyes fell upon the crumpled face of Earl James Douglas.

It was true. The commander of the East March Scottish army was dead.

“Go tell Earl George that we have found the body of Earl James,” instructed John. “
and
stand by to bring him to this place if he so chooses.”

“Aye, Milord,” said the searcher bowing a bit before he traversed the corpse field. He then ran up the hill toward the earl’s camp.

“Sad, sad,” remarked Maxwell as he stared at
Douglas
’ body. Then he noticed the dead bodies of
Douglas
’ two squires who were obviously at his heels when they all three were struck down by English steel. Maxwell wondered how it was possible for one man and his squires to get so deep into the English side of the mêlée but he also realized that Douglas did not have on his surcoat or any markings to indicate he would have been a valuable ransom if taken alive which made his travel that deep into the English mass even more remarkable.

Soon enough Earl George arrived at the tail of the man who had found
Douglas
’ sword. He was followed by three large men-at-arms and one of them was carrying a quilt that George had seen neatly folded in
Douglas
’ tent a time or two.

Two men spread the quilt over several bodies crumpled together beside
Douglas
and the three began to understand how best to reverently extract poor James from his death ground.

“
Yon’s
his two squires, Milord,” said Maxwell pointing.

More of the Scots knights gathered on the perimeter of the battlefield to watch.

George bent to see for himself the two squires,
then
stood. “Some of ye get another two litters ready for a couple of very brave squires.”

Enough men left for the hill to find suitable material to make the litters.

The three men working within the gore to extricate James finally got their hands under the earl and lifted him to the quilt.

George easily laid the ends of the quilt over his friend’s mangled corpse before the three soldiers hoisted the man aboard their shoulders and carried him up the hill.

By that time the news of the find was all about and many gathered for a glimpse of the great hero of
Scotland
as he was laid before his tent.