Games of Otterburn 1388 (34 page)

“Hope the cow don’t bellow,” whispered Osbert.

“She’s
gettin
’ fed
a’plenty
,” replied Jacob in an angry whisper. “Tell a fact, I’m tired of
hidin
’ here and I’m ready to just give them the cow and the goats!”

“The heathens would want to kill us, too,” said Osbert.

“What for?” jabbed Jacob,
“We ain’t done
nothin
’!”

“They don’t like our
hidin
’ from them,” offered Osbert.

Within the ten foot square sod hovel Osbert and Jacob had build in the wood for just such an emergency, Claricia was holding the smallest of her children who had caught sick from being overly exposed to the wet weather for six days. They could not build a fire to take away the chill of the dampness. The child cried out before the mother could muffle the cry with her bare teat.

One of the horseback Scots looked toward the copse.

Osbert and Jacob froze in place.

Something else caught his attention in the other direction.

“Second time for their
comin
’,” said Joseph. “How many more times you reckon they’ll be
trampin
’ and
trampin’here
?”

Osbert shrugged a bit. “As many as they do,” he stoically said holding to the low tones.

“Got to build the house back,” said Jacob.

“Chimney’s still there,” said Osbert smiling.

Soon the contingent of Scots rode on off toward
Carlisle
driving their herd before them.

Osbert got from his sitting place and walked back deeper in the wood to report to his wife telling her, “Come and gone… again, they have.”

“This child will live but a day longer without a
dryin
’ fire,” said Claricia sadly.

Osbert ran his fingers through the child’s scant hair and was quiet for a while. He looked at his two older children sitting on the wet ground with their britches soaked, then promised, “Have a fire for ye, I will.”

“How?” she asked looking up at her husband. “We’ll get caught.”

“I’m
dependin
’ on the Scotch not
comin
’ back soon
or
in the dark,” he countered.

“Squeeze a bit of milk from the nanny,” said
Clarisia
, “Mine’s
dryin
’ up from not
eatin
’.”

Osbert took the one ceramic cup and headed for the rough made shed where the livestock was being kept thinking all the while where he could get dry tender to start the fire then it dawned on him that the interlining of his coat just might work.

He hoped he and his family would live beyond their ordeal.

August 18 - Early Morning

Newcastle-upon-Tyne

“Is this some sort of Scotch trickery?” growled Hotspur from the tower wall of the West Gate.

“Your eyes are most certainly better than mine,” said Sir Robert Ogle peering over the wall to the field. “If it is a trick of some sort, there does not seem to be an immediate danger. The Scotch
are
plumb gone from here.”

“Who is the dead man?” asked Hotspur wondering.

“Some figured he was
your
spy,” replied Ogle turning to look at Hotspur.

“My spy?”

“Don’t recognize him?”

“Too far away, I reckon,”

Without any notice the blindfolded ‘dead man’ yelled out as if he had no notion as to where he was or to whom he might be saying, “Help!... Any of you!
Help!”

“Bastard’s alive!” judged Hotspur his mouth agape.

“By God in Heaven, I think you right, Milord!” came back Ogle, his response well tinged with sarcasm.

Hotspur looked hard at Ogle. “You figured which direction those damned Scotch
might’a
sauntered?”

“No notion,” said Ogle plainly.

“Might well be in the direction of your home place,” said Hotspur angrily.

Ogle’s demeanor fast changed when he realized Lord Henry had a salient point.

Hotspur knew he then had Ogle’s attention.

“Go release our spy from his bindings and see if my lost lance still has my pennon attached to it,” growled Hotspur, his eyes drilling fire into Sir Robert’s.

“I will send my second,” said Ogle.

“Go yourself!” demanded Hotspur and it was in the manner in which the warden of Northumberland spoke the words that Sir Robert Ogle bowed his head and left the wall walk, gathered three knights with him and walked to the center of the silage field to fetch the spy and Hotspur’s lance.

Robert knelt beside the staked out man and removed his blindfolded. The spy blinked at the relative brightness of the day saying, “Who are you?”

Lord Henry Percy wants to see you,” said Ogle as others untied his hands and feet.

“Can you walk?” asked Robert.

“I can,” replied the spy. He got to his hands and knees.

Robert and the three knights stood back to see the man’s progress. His back was wet with soppy mud and pieces of chaff.

The spy put one foot out and pushed hard against his stiffened legs to stand. “Need some help, Milord,” he admitted when he realized he was not making progress.

Ogle nodded and two of the knights helped the man to his feet and put his arms over their shoulders and walked him in through the gate.

Robert looked all around. Except for the ashes from the multiple fires and the trampled field there was little evidence the Scots had been there or that they had brought such excitement to an otherwise dull venue.

He looked at the upturned lance and said to the remaining knight, “Ain’t
gonna
be good news for our Hotspur.

The knight loosed the lance from the ground and with it in hand followed his liege lord through the West Gate where, still on the wall walk, Hotspur was watching and waiting. He peered down to the pavement just inside the gate tunnel and saw the spy being limped in and set against the outer wall of a close building. Then he saw his pennonless lance set against the wall beside the spy and he went from agitated to apoplectic as he descended the stone steps to the flagstones.

“No pennon?!” he yelped first in Ogle’s face.

“No, Milord,” replied Ogle trying to remain calm.

“Bastard
Douglas
!!” he cursed. “What does the spy have to say for himself?”

“Never asked him, Milord,” said Ogle.

“Well… stoop yon and ask him, now!”

Sir Robert got to one knee to speak to the dazed man. “What were you
spyin
’ on?”

“Scotch,” he replied.

“What did the Scotch do?”

“Had a great lot of plunder… saw them at Scotch Gap,” reported the spy weakly.

“Ask how many men with them,” growled Hotspur.

The spy heard the question from Hotspur’s lips and answered, “Three… four hundred.”

“
This man know
how to count?” screamed Hotspur just as the man who could answer the question walked onto the scene.

“He can count some,” spoke Ralph. “I’m the one who sent him to Scotch Gap. I heard they came south by that way.”

“He likely to know how many three or four hundred would be?” asked Hotspur coming down from his flash of anger.

“More likely to know that than if it was thousands he was
countin
’,” replied Ralph.

“Where is that main contingent?” he spoke through gritted teeth.

“This is the first spy we’ve seen come back since the Scotch came, Henry,” advised Ralph. “I say send scouts out to follow the trail of the Scotch.”

Hotspur stewed a bit then ordered, “Send out our smartest spies and spread them up in the direction of Scotch Gap to see what’s afoot.”

“I shall,” promised Ralph.

“I fear that even with all our carefulness… we have been tricked!”

Sir Robert Ogle standing near by was sure of it but gave not a word of counsel. He looked at the lance with the missing pennon and realized Sir James Douglas was setting a trap hoping Hotspur would follow him to retrieve the pennon and thereby meet his ruin.

Within the hour eight scouts were sent in a strategical spread from the northwest to the west hoping they could find the illusive contingent of Robert Stewart, Earl of Fife and his main force of so many thousands.

August 18 - Morning

Carlisle
Countryside

There was a small village within the glen that provided various services for folk across the valley floor and beyond. Their housing was rough made of wattle and daub with thatch for a roof, shuttered windows and dirt floors.

At the piggery on the far eastern side and downstream on the small burn there lived a lad who kept the swine for the village flesh hewers. They serviced the local folk not able to have ‘on the hoof’ meat sources for themselves. Their shop was in the village so the smell was not so strong making the buying of meat more palatable.

“Lord of the manor wants a pig,” said the fourteen year old ruffian.

The piggery lad named Gilly looked up from his duties and saw the ruffian and his younger brother by two years who was learning the family’s ruffian trade first hand.