The King's Dogge (12 page)

I pointed down the valley.

‘There's Broughton. Let's see what he's found out.'

Thomas was grim-faced as the three of us sat down on the bank of a small stream that trickled down the valley.

‘It's bad news, Francis. We're in trouble.'

He had found the pack train – well, a number of dead horses that were members of it – midway between our current position and the old road. The escorts were dead.

‘All fifteen of them?' asked Dick, surprised.

‘Mostly from arrow wounds,' grunted Thomas. ‘But some were hacked with axes.'

We looked at each other in confusion. The Scots carried spears, short swords, daggers and occasionally short crossbows, but not axes.

‘Skiam must have joined the Scots.'

‘Or else he has recruited another band of followers,' brooded Thomas. ‘But there's worse – we have the Scots behind us now. I saw one large group coming up from the south-west, and there's a large cloud of dust in the east.'

‘Numbers?'

‘I would say more than us.'

We sat in silence for a while.

‘The Scots are in too great numbers to be mere random patrols,' Middleton said slowly.

Broughton narrowed his eyes.

‘My instincts tell me that this is not a coincidence,' he growled.

He was right.

‘I think I've completely underestimated the Scots,' I said bitterly. ‘Our initial raid must have caught them by surprise, but while we were destroying their farms and villages, they were systematically assembling their own forces behind us.'

‘They have fooled us altogether!' Thomas burst out. ‘As we advanced, they gradually joined their forces together and just tempted us further and further into Scotland.' He gave a mirthless chuckle. ‘That's why they sent those horsemen in front of us – to lure us deeper into Scotland.'

‘With a larger force between us and the border, we're cut off,' Middleton said grimly. ‘God knows if Skiam and his band are working with the Scots, but either way it looks as if both our lines of supply and retreat are cut off. We're trapped!'

I got up slowly, avoiding their gaze, and walked along by the stream, feeling the ever-increasing weight of failure. This was all my fault; I had been too reckless. It was I who had led this impetuous advance into enemy territory that had resulted in us being snared.

I paused to pick up a handful of pebbles. It was also my responsibility to get us out of this mess, I quietly reflected.

There was little hope of sending messengers back to Moresby to request reinforcements, as the Scots would intercept them. Even if, by some miracle, a messenger actually got through, if I were in Moresby's position, I was not sure I would send reinforcements. Having taken effectively half the strength of the West March on this raid, the remainder was required to guard Carlisle and our English forts.

The second alternative I considered was to fight our way back to the border, which was only two or three days away. The problem with this lay in the mixed composition of the force I led, which would severely restrict the speed of our march. The issue, of course, was that to use their bows the archers had to dismount. Given the Scots would be attacking us tirelessly, most of the journey back to the border would have to be done on foot. With fresh supplies and sufficient arrows this might be feasible, but we had little food and only a finite number of arrows. On top of this, Dick Middleton's horsemen were outnumbered by the Scots and would be destroyed over time.

I threw a series of stones in the stream. If somehow we could overcome the Scots, we would weaken their Western March considerably, since they must have assembled much of their available manpower. Although, it rather looked like it would be our own West March that would be weakened, due to my disastrous handling of this raid.

I flinched and felt my cheek; it was bleeding. A stone that I had thrown had not fallen into the stream, but had hit a rock and broken in two. A shard of the stone had bounced back and struck me. I knelt down to wash the trickle of blood in the stream and suddenly had an epiphany. It was an extremely risky idea but it might just work. Even if it didn't, at least half our force might survive. I walked back to where Broughton, Fennell and Middleton were sitting to seek their counsel.

I looked at the three of them.

‘So what do you think of the plan?' I asked briskly.

Thomas rubbed his head.

‘It's risky, Francis. Conventional military wisdom advises against dividing up your force when facing an enemy who outnumber you.' He paused. ‘On the other hand, if it does work we could inflict a severe defeat on the Scots. I have no better plan.'

Dick shook his head.

‘Let's be totally clear, Francis. You are saying that Broughton and I break out tonight with the Carlisle horse. In the darkness, we will try to elude the Scots, before they are fully joined up, and then get to the border. That's possible if we move quickly and the Scots have not already joined all their forces together. Now, if we make it to the border, you want Sir Thomas to tell Sir Christopher Moresby to strip Carlisle of all its troops and send them to guard our fortresses.'

‘Which I will then take charge of,' added Broughton, ‘while he garrisons Carlisle Castle with his friends and servants. That way the border is safe.'

‘Meanwhile, I bring up the whole of the Carlisle horse – there will be 700 or 800 of us – and attack the Scots, who will be attacking you and the archers in your fortified position,' continued Middleton.

‘Yes. The way I see it, Dick, is that they expect us to split our force and try and save the Carlisle horse, but,' – I felt my cheek gingerly – ‘what they will not expect is for you to bounce back with a large force, let alone so quickly.'

His face lit up.

‘They will get the surprise of their lives and, with any luck, we will outnumber them. I suspect, Francis, that if we can break out, they will chase us all the way to the border. It should take us two days to reach there, two days to muster the men and another two days to return. If we can get through, you will need to hold out for six days.'

‘No, Dick. If they follow you to the border it will take them two days and another two to return. We will only be under attack for two days. We can manage that easily enough.'

‘I'll take the archers' palfreys with me. We can use them as remounts; I'll not leave them for the Scots. They deserve better than that.'

Dick and Broughton looked at each other.

‘It might work,' said Thomas, ‘but only if we can break through the Scots tonight. We'll leave you whatever rations there are. If we make it to the border, we can eat there. If we don't, well it won't matter. Francis, are you certain you will not come with us?'

I shook my head meditatively. It was my fault we were in this situation and it would encourage the archers if I remained. I suddenly had a thought; Broughton and Middleton had agreed to the plan, but courtesy demanded I seek the advice of the giant, albeit slow-witted, captain of archers, John Fennell.

I was not certain if he had been listening, as he seemed engrossed in cutting notches into a stick with a knife that seemed too small for his huge paw of a hand. I relayed my plan to him. When I was finished, he put his knife on the ground and looked at the hills around us.

‘So I will find a good defensive spot for us, my lord,' he said slowly, ‘and then we'll hold that ground until you and Master Middleton return to ambush the Scots.'

‘No, I will remain with you.'

A simple smile spread over his face.

‘That's good, my lord. It will do everyone good to know that you're here.' He rose to his feet. ‘Let me go and look for a good place for us to defend.'

He started to move away, but I stopped him and gave him his little dagger.

‘Thank you, my lord. I would not have wanted to lose that. It's my brother's.'

‘Is he an archer too?'

‘No my lord, he was a soldier; killed last year.'

He paused as if he was going to add something, but changed his mind and began to move away. He stopped and turned back to look at Broughton and Middleton.

‘It's a cunning plan that my lord has devised.'

We watched his huge frame amble off and Dick Middleton's face creased in amusement.

‘Do you know, Thomas, he's totally right and I'm completely wrong. I didn't realise that my lord's plan was a cunning, strategic device. I thought it was a plan born out of desperation to get us out of a rather nasty trap.'

Broughton smiled slowly.

‘Ah, but you are unaware of my lord's strategic genius. Not many great generals would have carefully marched their forces deep into enemy territory to act as a decoy for the ambushing of their enemy. I doubt Julius Caesar would have thought of such a ruse.'

I bit my lip trying not to laugh as my two friends teased me mercilessly, but when Broughton referred to me as the Hannibal of the West March, and Dick swore that men in the future would talk of Alexander the Great and Lovell in the same breath, I burst out laughing and raised my hand to stop them.

‘You two will move out of here late in the afternoon. I agree, Dick; you should take all the horses, as we will not need them. If you leave us the rest of the rations, we can probably make them last four or five days.'

‘If we break through tonight,' said Dick, ‘I will be back in six days at an outside guess. I think I know how we might get through without losing a man, but it's a gamble. If we do get through, the Scots will pursue us to the border. After all, they can always come back for you afterwards.'

With Captain Fennell at my side, I talked through the plan, and the role and tasks of the archers and men-at-arms before the Carlisle horse left us. Otherwise, they would have been worried when they saw their comrades depart. There were no questions, which surprised me, as archers are generally very quick to express their views.

I asked Fennell about this afterwards. He frowned and played with his little knife.

‘There's not much to ask, my lord. The fact that you've stayed here proves that you believe Master Middleton will come back to defeat the Scots.'

‘What you said was reassuring to them anyway,' Edward Franke added. ‘It's true that Scottish horsemen are ideal for fighting other horsemen or attacking marching troops, but against archers in a defensive position, they would be shot to pieces before they reached our lines.'

Captain Fennell shook his head.

‘The men trust you; that's why there were no questions. Now, my brother, he was a great one for asking questions. Not that it helped him in the end, him leaving a widow and four children behind.'

‘If I can help them in anyway?' I began. ‘I would…'

He looked down and smiled at me.

‘No, my lord, no more is necessary.' Obviously, he was supporting the family himself. ‘But it is kind of you.'

He looked around the valley.

‘I need to find a hilltop for us, my lord; so if you don't mind, I'll start looking now.'