The King's Dogge (13 page)

I watched him amble away. He appeared very helpful, as far as he was able, but I was still feeling very uneasy. Everyone remaining here seemed to have total confidence that Middleton would break through the Scots to the south of us and return in six days. Dick was a good leader, but the Scots outnumbered him and knew the ground intimately. They would know where to water their horses and lay ambushes and, of course, if he could not break through them, our group was going to be stranded here with dwindling rations. I began to feel sick as it hit me that, due to my impetuosity, I had probably condemned Middleton's force to annihilation at the hands of the Scots and the rest of my force to a lingering death on a lonely hilltop.

‘Five days, I estimate,' Edward Franke interrupted my thoughts.

I looked at him blankly.

‘We have sufficient rations for five days, Francis, but when Dick Middleton returns, he might bring some with him. I suppose we could just go hungry until he gets us back to the Debateable Land, though. Mind you Francis, on the next raid I think we should try to establish a series of supply points as we advance. What we could do is…'

I clenched my hands and bit my tongue. There was not going to be a next raid; the chances were that Dick was not going to make it through the Scots, but I was going to have to keep the truth to myself.

‘Yes, of course.'

I interrupted his ideal plan for supplying a raiding force.

‘But Edward, this valley is not suitable as a defensive position; we need to be on top of one of the surrounding hills. Additionally, we need timber for palisades and wood for fires. The timber, wood and supplies have to be manhandled up the hills. We need to do all of this as quickly as possible; can you form the men into groups?'

‘I know what to do,' he smiled at me. ‘Mind you, in two days Dick will be back at the border and the Scots will want to rest before they return here, so the earliest they will be back is in five days' time, with Dick only a day behind them. Is it worth doing all this, Francis?'

I looked into his trusting blue eyes.

‘Yes. It will give the men something to do and stop them worrying.'

‘But no one is worried,' he hastened to reassure me. ‘Captain Fennell has told the men about the defensive position we need to establish and has told them that we can slaughter the Scots while we sit there safely. Then when Middleton returns there won't be so many for him to defeat.'

‘And they believed him?'

He furrowed his brow.

‘Oh yes, of course. I know that he isn't at all clever, but to the archers he's a natural leader. He can outshoot any of them and he's a man of long sight, which is highly valuable. Apparently he can see things in the distance that any other man could not. And he's not a man to argue with – somebody tried to quarrel with him last year and Fennell knocked him unconscious with one blow. The men believe in him, Francis… and in you.'

I crossed to the east side of the hill and peered into the valley where yesterday afternoon Dick Middleton had led his force south to the cheers of the archers. They made a fine sight, spears aloft, the afternoon sunlight glinting on their breastplates and the silver embroidery of their saddlecloths. Dick argued when I suggested such a spectacle, thinking it would make his men too conspicuous, but had backed down when his troops had taken to their ostentatious saddle wear with enthusiasm.

I wondered where he was now. If he had broken through, he must be halfway to the border with the Scots in hot pursuit. If he had not, the Scots would be back here in a day or so.

Unlike the exhausted archers who sprawled everywhere on the hilltop, I was unable to sleep. I had forbidden the making of fires, so as not to reveal our position, but the moon was almost full and gave sufficient light as I walked round the small camp. To my surprise, I found Fennell on the southern side, his burly frame hunched as he peered down to the entrance of the valley.

He pointed into the darkness.

‘Can you see it, my lord?'

I looked out uneasily.

‘No, what is it?'

He rubbed his eyes.

‘It's a long way off, my lord, but I think it's a fire or fires.'

I went cold. If Middleton had broken through, he should be near to the border now and the Scots would be with him. There should be no one close to our camp now. Either the Scots had abandoned the pursuit or they had defeated Middleton, but there was no reason why the Scots would have called off the chase – they outnumbered the Carlisle horse, knew the country and the quickest routes, and it was clear Dick and his men were fleeing for their lives.

‘How far away would you say that fire is?' I asked.

‘Difficult to say my lord – could be half a day's march, maybe more?' Fennell squinted through the darkness.

I thought hard. Men generally believe what they want to believe and hoped Fennell's men were no different.

‘Middleton left yesterday so he must have been able to break through and the Scots decided to abandon the chase,' I said confidently.

Fennell was silent for a long while as he absorbed this.

‘Could the Scots have defeated Master Middleton?' he asked slowly.

I swallowed; this was the difficult part.

‘No. If they had, they would be busily pursuing all the survivors. Think about it; Middleton's men fight in groups. They're not just one single body of horsemen. There would be a series of battles between the Scots and the groups of Carlisle horse, but even if the Scots had won some of these they would have wanted to wipe out the whole force. They would not have come back here; they would have chased the survivors, hoping to kill them before they got to the border.'

‘So the Scots would have chased the survivors to the borders,' Fennell asked hesitantly, ‘if there had been a battle?'

‘Yes, the fact that there are Scots half a day's march away suggests that Middleton eluded them completely.'

‘I'll tell the men what you've said, my lord.' He straightened up slowly. ‘They will be glad to hear that Master Middleton has broken through.' He paused for a moment and then added. ‘I am glad you're here, my lord. I would not have thought of what you have just told me.'

With that he lumbered off, while I thanked God for his lack of wit, as clearly all of Middleton's horsemen had been annihilated speedily. There were no survivors, which was why the Scots were returning. I sat silently grieving Thomas and Dick Middleton, as well as their men. It was my fault they had died, along with the 300 men of the Carlisle horse. Soon all the archers and men-at-arms here would be dead as well. Even if Middleton or Broughton had escaped, or there were any survivors, the defeat of the Carlisle horse settled the fate of the men on the hilltop. Sir Christopher Moresby would retain what was left of the forces of the West March to protect it. The last thing he would do was weaken the numbers in the West March still further by sending more troops to reinforce failure. Besides which, he would not know where to send them.

I thought of my two friends and their men. I had known Dick since we were boys, but was closer to Thomas Broughton – our thoughts and speech were attuned to one another, but now he was dead as a result of my actions.

Another idea struck me – with the defeat in Scotland, our West March was badly weakened, which would add fuel to those harmful rumours of Gloucester's poor handling of the North. By destroying half the available soldiers in the West March and its military leadership, I had probably destroyed its chances of survival. Dear God, instead of helping Gloucester, I had probably ruined him and Anne Neville.

‘Captain Fennell said you were here, Francis.' Edward Franke broke into my thoughts. ‘I brought you some wine; there's a little left.'

I grunted out my thanks.

‘And Dick Middleton has broken through, Captain Fennell told the sentries. The fact that the Scots are about half a day away is good news. If they had found Middleton, they would have chased him to the border. We will need to hurry up with our defences, Fennell's told them – but Middleton should be back in four days.'

He peered out into the night.

‘I can't see anything though, but then Fennell can see farther than most. Do you think the Scots will attack tomorrow?'

It hardly mattered when they attacked now; our force was doomed. I had destroyed it, as I had destroyed the Carlisle horse.

‘I doubt it, Edward. In their place I would come at us slowly and carefully inspect our position. Then I would probably try to offset our advantage of archers by attacking at night. Edward, we will be busy tomorrow, get some rest now.'

I sat alone on the south side of this hill for the remainder of the night, thinking of my friends and the men I had sent to their death and how I had failed Richard and Anne.

There were happy smiles in the camp the next day. While I slept, Captain Fennell had spread the news that Middleton had broken through and the men worked eagerly on our makeshift defences. I left them to their work and eyed the approaching Scots as they moved up the valley towards our defensive position. It was a slow advance. They were in no hurry, as they knew that they had us trapped.

They came at us cautiously. I watched them ride through the valley and up and down the defiles on either side, entering the little woods further up the valley to check that we had not concealed men there. It was only when the Scots were satisfied that there was no chance of an ambush that the main party rode up and started to water their horses.

Their next moves were fairly predictable. They identified our position and sent patrols round the hill to find the easiest slopes from which to attack upwards. They quickly discovered that the western side would be the simplest route, given the steepness of the other three sides. Then they had a fairly obvious choice whether to attack us or starve us out.

To attack uphill against a large number of archers capable of firing ten arrows or more a minute would be suicidal. Even if they attacked at night, I would back the archers to win, since the contours of the hill made it impossible to come from more than one direction. In the Scots' place, I would only attack if I needed to finish the job quickly. But as the Scots had defeated Middleton, they had no need to hurry at all. They could simply starve us out. Eventually the lack of food would force us to leave our defensive position and try to break out towards the border. Once on open ground, they would ride us down.

‘I've counted about 700 in the valley and there are those thirty or so on the hill opposite us, my lord.'

Fennell had obviously been watching them closely. I had been so pre-occupied that I had not noticed him approach. He gestured down to the horses by the stream.

‘It looks like the Scots have captured some of our palfreys.'

My heart sank as I saw our larger horses drinking next to the small Scottish horses.

‘There must be about 200 of them,' he added. ‘They must be ours, as the Scots don't use them. How do you reckon they got hold of them?'

I turned away so he could not see the tears in my eyes. The answer was obvious; Dick's fondness for horses was such that he would not have surrendered a single one – let alone 200 – while he still lived. The presence of the palfreys confirmed finally that he had been heavily defeated.

I thought quickly. Apart from Edward Franke and myself, there was probably no one else in the camp that knew of Dick's love of horses and I could deal with Edward later. Casually, I turned back to Fennell who was staring across the valley at the thirty or so men on the opposite hill. Inexplicably, he was smiling happily, but then he was a simple-minded fellow.

‘Middleton has used those palfreys as a decoy,' I said firmly. ‘He would have let them go in order to draw off the Scots and let the main body escape.'

Please let him believe me, I prayed silently. With reluctance he tore his eyes away from the far hillside and looked down at me.

‘That's clever of him,' he said with admiration. ‘It's a good job you know him so well, my lord. I would have never of thought of that.'