Chapter Eighteen
The Scots were waiting for them.
The battle for Berwick started at sunrise when the enormous English army, flying the standards of several powerful warring houses, approached Berwick from the southwest, over the fields slick with morning dew as a frosty mist hovered over them.
Earl of Pembroke…
Baron Blackadder…
Earl of Hereford and Worcester…
Earl of Teviot…
Descendants of Bloodaxe, Lords of Bernicia…
Earl of Savernake…
Earl of Canterbury…
House of de Winter…
Great warring houses who brought hell and fire with them, unleashed just after dawn as the archers let loose and rained flaming bolts onto the Scots who had set up a defensive perimeter to prevent them from coming close to Berwick.
The bolts flew before the siege engines began to let loose.
Jax and Teviot brought two siege engines each, meaning there were four big catapults to use against the Scots, who had dug trenches.
Not deep ones, unfortunately for them, but they’d been given enough notice of an approaching army that they’d been able to give themselves some protection from the coming storm.
Until the siege engines began flinging rocks and boulders at them.
The land around Berwick was rocky, so there was no shortage of projectiles to load into the buckets and sling at the Scots.
Even a small rock could do damage hitting a man in the skull, so after a morning of bombardment, the Scots were forced to pull back or risk being pummeled to death.
The English moved closer.
“We need to take the bridge,” The Marshal said to the commanders around him. “Once we control that, we can control this battle, so we must move forward to secure the bridge.”
The men listening in were Christopher, David, Alexander, and Jax.
Everyone else was spread out with the armies, including Cole.
He was in charge of loading up his father’s catapults, which were still doing spectacular damage.
Next to The Marshal, Christopher was wrestling with a warhorse who was eager to chomp down on some Scots flesh.
“There is another bridge upriver about a mile to the west,” Christopher said. “They call it the Ord Crossing. Our support wagons have been gathered near it, away from the heart of the fighting.”
“I know,” The Marshal said. “I do not see the Scots using it to counter us at this time but, at some point, we must control that bridge, too.”
Christopher nodded his head. “I would say we should control it now,” he said. “If this is the beginning of our three-pronged attack, then we must evaluate this situation carefully.”
The Marshal looked at him. “What do you mean?”
Christopher gestured to the ridge north of the town. “Let us start with that,” he said. “It seems to me that not all of the army is between us and the bridge into Berwick.”
The Marshal knew that. He was looking to the north, too, where hills overlooked Berwick, and they could see smoke rising in those hills. Where there was smoke, there was an army.
They were lingering up there, waiting and watching.
“The army before us is not all of the men The Rough has to offer,” he said, pointing to the hills.
“If I know William, he is lying in wait, up there where the smoke is. Therefore, I will keep the Scots at this bridge busy while you take your army and de Velt and cross the other bridge. You are right; we should control it now. You can come around to the rear of the Scots to the north and keep them from reinforcing the ranks in the city.”
Christopher was looking around. “I will,” he said. “But I will take Teviot and de Bourne with me. You keep de Velt with you and put him on that castle. That is what the man does best. If we want to take Berwick Castle, he is our best chance. Jax, do you have anything to say to that?”
Jax was looking across to the castle, a behemoth structure that was one of the more impenetrable bastions in England and Scotland. He was listening to the conversation between The Marshal and Christopher, but all the while, his mind was working.
“Nay,” he said. “But I will take the castle my way.”
Everyone looked at him. “What do you mean?” The Marshal asked. “Honestly, Jax, I am afraid to even ask that question. Of course you can do it your way, but do you mean in the same fashion you took Fountainhall?”
Jax simply looked at him, those dual-colored eyes making the hair on the back of The Marshal’s neck stand up. Understanding his silent meaning, he put up a hand.
“Jax, I am in full support of whatever you wish to do with the occupants of Berwick but leave the castle intact,” he said. “I want it. Can you do this?”
The corner of Jax’s mouth twitched. “I can do anything,” he said. “But you are taking all of the fun out of it.”
Christopher started to chuckle. “Ah, Jax, my good and true friend,” he said. “Everyone wants to spoil your good time. I’m so sorry.”
Jax’s grin broke through as he looked over at the castle again. “Especially the Scots,” he said. “And they are going to pay, just like their brethren at Fountainhall did.”
The Marshal could see there was no use in holding him back. Jax was the warlord they all feared, brutality personified.
He was going to put that to good use.
“Do your worst, de Velt,” he said. “I will get you across the bridge, but you must be prepared to act once I do.”
“I will be ready.”
As Jax spun his black warhorse around and headed towards his army, The Marshal turned to Christopher.
“God help us all if I do not get him across that bridge in a reasonable amount of time,” he muttered. “He may start taking his frustrations out on the rest of us.”
Christopher snorted. “Then that is prime incentive to take that bridge,” he said. “If we do not want to be the focus of his aggression, then we had better do what we say we are going to do. Now, may I make a suggestion?”
“Please do.”
Christopher pointed to the bridge. “Put de Winter and Savernake on driving the Scots across the bridge and away from the town while de Velt attacks the castle,” he said.
“De Winter and Savernake are your best war machines right now, so use them. Have East Anglia watch your flank and rear. We are close to the border and there could be a flanking maneuver, just as we are about to do.”
It was the truth and William knew it. Their plans of splitting the army still held true, as those were their original plans, but now that they had a better look at the topography and the position of the Scots, those plans had to be flexible.
“Very well,” he said. “Take Teviot and de Bourne and root them out of those hills. How far behind is Richmond?”
Christopher looked at him. “At least a day,” he said. “We received word from Maxton last night. They’re moving as quickly as they can, but Richmond is a big army.”
William digested that. “When Cai and Maxton arrive, direct them to the mouth of the river,” he said. “Tell Cai to put a line of archers with flaming arrows around the mouth and then in the sand to the north. As soon as they see those ships, launch the arrows. Burn those bastards at sea.”
“I will tell them,” Alexander said. “I am keeping a watch on any armies arriving from the south, so once they are sighted, I will move them towards the river’s mouth.”
“Excellent,” The Marshal said, turning to Alexander. “And everyone else? What does your gut tell you, Sherry? How far behind us are they?”
Alexander sighed faintly. “It is difficult to know,” he said.
“The messengers I sent out last night have yet to return, so they are not close in any case. The last I heard, Gart and Pembroke were at least a week behind us, so that would put him at possibly five days or more. I would assume everyone else is still the same – Canterbury, de Lara, de Nerra.”
That wasn’t exactly what William wanted to hear, but that’s what he’d known all along. Perhaps he was hoping for Alexander to tell him something different and come up with a miracle. He motioned to the soldier next to him, the man who always carried The Marshal’s standards.
“Send for the commanders now,” he said. “Bric, Dash, Kress, Achilles, Peter, Alastor and Ares, Addax and Essien… send them to me. Quickly.”
The man was gone, yelling to other Marshal soldiers to seek out the Executioner Knights, who were now leading their armies. Spies who worked in small groups, or sometimes alone, were in truth seasoned knights with vast command experience. Like Dashiell and Bric, they commanded massive war machines.
Those war machines were about to get down and dirty.
“They’ve no’ taken the Ord Crossing yet,” a breathless Scotsman said. “We can use it tae flank their position, yer grace. Their entire north flank is open and that includes the provisions and surgeons tae the rear.”
William was on a rise overlooking Berwick on this cold, misty morning.
He’d just watched the English destroy the defensive line he’d had set up between the English and Berwick with their siege engines.
His eyesight wasn’t very good, but he had excellent intelligence.
They told him exactly what he needed to know so he could form a larger picture.
“My old friend, William Marshal, has arrived,” he muttered, sounding oddly satisfied. “The Scarlet Lion is once again in action for the English. Tell me the other standards ye see.”
MacDuff was next to him astride his big, copper-colored steed. “’Tis difficult tae see from here,” he said. “I’m told de Lohr has arrived along with de Winter and Savernake. Big and powerful houses, yer grace.”
William was smiling, an odd gesture. “The Marshal has brought his most important warlords and if I know William, this is no’ the end of it,” he said. “There are more on the way. They will take Berwick unless our Northman allies arrive here in the next day or two. Where are they?”
“Sighted near St. Abbs,” MacDuff said. “They’ll be here by the morning.”
“How many?”
“I’m told at least a dozen.”