CAMELOT FANTASIES

The Battle of Otterburn

THE FIRST FYTTE

IT fell about the Lammas tide,
  When husbands winn their hay,
The doughty Douglas bound him to ride
  Into England to take a prey.

The Earl of Fife, withouten strife,
  He bound him over Solway;
The great would ever together ride
  That race they may rue for aye.

Over Ottercap hill they came in,
  And so down by Rotheley crag,
Upon Green Leighton they lighted down,
  Styrande many a stag;

And boldly brente Northumberland,
  And harried many a town;
They did our Englishmen great wrong
  To battle that were not bown.

Then spake a berne upon the bent,
  Of comfort that was not cold,
And said, "We have brente Northumberland,
  We have all wealth in holde.

"Now we have harried all Bamborough shire
  All the wealth in the world have we;
I rede we ride to Newcastle,
  So still and stalworthlye."

Upon the morrow, when it was day,
  The standards shone full bright;
To the Newcastle they took the way,
  And thither they came full right.

Sir Henry Percy lay at the Newcastle,
  I tell you, withouten dread;
He has been a March-man all his days,
  And kept Berwick upon Tweed.

To the Newcastle when they came,
  The Scots they cried on hyght:
"Sir Harry Percy, an thou bist within,
  Come to the field and fight:

"For we have brente Northumberland,
  Thy heritage good and right;
And syne my lodging I have take,
  With my brand dubbed many a knight."

Sir Harry Percy came to the walls,
  The Scottish host for to see:
"And thou hast brente Northumberland,
  Full sore it rueth me.

"If thou hast harried all Bamborough shire,
  Thou hast done me great envy;
For the trespàss thou hast me done,
  The one of us shall die."

"Where shall I bide thee?" said the Douglas;
  "Or where wilt thou come to me?
"At Otterburn in the high way,
  There mayst thou well lodged be.

The roe full reckless there she runs,
  To make thee game and glee;
The falcon and the pheasant both,
  Among the holtes on hee.

"There mayst thou have thy wealth at will,
  Well lodged there mayst thou be;
It shall not be long ere I come thee till,"
  Said Sir Harry Percyè.

There shall I bide thee," said the Douglas,
  "By the faith of my bodỳ."
"Thither shall I come," said Sir Harry Percỳ,
  "My troth I plight to thee."

A pipe of wine he gave them over the walls,
  For sooth, as I you say;
There he made the Douglas drink,
  And all his host that day.

The Douglas turned him homeward again,
  For sooth withouten nay;
He took his lodging at Otterburn
  Upon a Wednèsday;

And there he pyght his standard down.
  His getting more and less;
And syne he warned his men to go
  And get their geldings gress.

A Scottish knight hoved upon the bent,
  A watch I dare well say;
So was he ware on the noble Percỳ
  In the dawning of the day.

He pricked to his pavilion door,
  As fast as he might ronne;
"Awaken, Douglas!" cried the knight,
  "For His love that sits in throne.

"Awaken, Douglas!" cried the knight,
  "For thou mayst waken with wynne;
Yonder have I spied the proud Percỳ,
  And seven standàrds with him."

Nay, by my troth," the Douglas said,
  "It is but a feignèd tale;
He durst not look on my broad bannèr,
  For all Englànd so hayle

"Was I not yesterday at the Newcastle,
  That stands so fair on Tyne?
For all the men the Percy had,
  He could not garre me once to dyne."

He stepped out at his pavilion door,
  To look, and it were less;
"Array you, lordyngs, one and all,
  For here begins no peace.

"The Earl of Menteith, thou art my eme,
  The forward I give to thee;
The Earl of Huntley cawte and keen,
  He shall with thee be.

"The Lord of Buchan, in armour bright,
  On the other hand he shall be;
Lord Johnstone, and Lord Maxwell,
  They two shall be with me.

"Swynton fair field upon your pride
  To battle make you bowen;
Sir Davy Scot, Sir Walter Steward,
  Sir John of Agerstone."

THE SECOND FYTTE

The Percy came before his host,
  Which ever was a gentle knight,
Upon the Douglas loud did he cry,
  "I will hold that I have hight;

"For thou hast brente Northumberland,
  And done me great envỳ;
For this trespàss thou hast me done
  The one of us shall die."

The Douglas answered him again,
  With great words up on hee,
And said, "I have twenty against thy one,
  Behold, and thou mayst see."

With that the Percy was grievèd sore,
  For sooth as I you say;
He lighted down upon his foot,
  And shot his horse clean away

Every man saw that he did so,
  That ryall was ever in rout;
Every man shot his horse him fro,
  And light him round about.

Thus Sir Harry Percy took the field,
  For sooth as I you say,
Jesu Christ in heaven on high,
  Did help him well that day.

But nine thousand, there was no more,
  If chronicle will not layne;
Forty thousand Scots and four
  That day fought them again,

But when the battle began to join,
  In haste there came a knight,
Then letters fair forth hath he ta'en,
  And thus he said full right:

"My lord, your father he greets you well,
  With many a noble knight;
He desires you to bide,
  That he may see this fight.

"The baron of Grastock is come out of the west,
  With him a noble company;
All they lodge at your father's this night,
  And the battle fain would they see."

For Jesu's love," said Sir Harry Percỳ,
  "That died for you and me,
Wend to my lord, my father, again,
  And say thou saw me not with ee;

"My troth is plight to yon Scottish knight,
  It needs me not to layne,
That I should bide him upon this bent,
  And I have his troth again;

"And if that I wend off this ground,
  For sooth unfoughten away,
He would me call but a coward knight,
  In his land another day.

"Yet had I lever to be rynde and rent,
  By Mary that mykel may,
Than ever my manhood should be reproved
  With a Scot another day.

"Wherefore shoot, archers, for my sake,
  And let sharp arrows flee;
Minstrels, play up for your warison,
  And well quit it shall be.

"Every man think on his true love,
  And mark him to the Trinitỳ;
For to God I make mine a-vow
  This day will I not flee."

The bloody heart in the Douglas' arms,
  His standard stood on high,
That every man might full well know;
  Beside stood starrès three.

The white Liòn on the English part,
  For sooth as I you sayne,
The luces and the crescents both
  The Scots fought them again.

Upon Saint Andrew loud did they cry,
  And thrice they shout on hyght,
And syne marked them on our Englishmen,
  As I have told you right.

Saint George the bright, our Lady's knight,
  To name they were full fain,
Our Englishmen they cried on hyght,
  And thrice they shout again.

With that sharp arrows began to flee,
  I tell you in certain;
Men of arms began to join;
  Many a doughty man was there slain.

The Percy and the Douglas met,
  That either of them was fain;
They schapped together, while that they sweat,
  With swords of fine Collayne;

Till the blood from their basenets ran
  As the roke doth in the rain.
"Yield thee to me," said the Douglas,
  "Or else thou shalt be slain;

"For I see by thy bright basenet,
  Thou art some man of might;
And so I do by thy burnished brand,
  Thou art an earl, or else a knight."

"By my good faith," said the noble Percỳ,
  "Now hast thou rede full right;
Yet will I never yield me to thee,
  While I may stand and fight."

They swapped together, while that they sweat,
  With swordès sharp and long;
Each on other so fast they beat,
  Till their helms came in pieces down.

The Percy was a man of strength,
  I tell you in this stound
He smote the Douglas at the sword's length,
  That he felled him to the ground.

The sword was sharp, and sore did byte,
  I tell you in certàin;
To the heart he did him smite,
  Thus was the Douglas slain.

The standards stood still on each side;
  With many a grievous groan,
There they fought the day, and all the night,
  And many a doughty man was slone.

There was no freyke that there would fly,
  But stiffly in stour did stand,
Echone hewing on other while they might dry,
  With many a baleful brand.

There was slain upon the Scottes side,
  For sooth and certainlỳ,
Sir James of Douglas there was slain,
  That day that he did die.

The Earl of Menteith he was slain.
  Grysely groaned upon the ground;
Sir Davy Scot, Sir Walter Steward,
  Sir John of Agerstone.

Sir Charles Murray in that place,
  That never a foot would fly;
Sir Hugh Maxwèll, a lord he was,
  With the Douglas did he die.

There was slain upon the Scottes side,
  For sooth as I you say,
Of four and forty thousand Scots,
  Went but eighteen away.

There was slain upon the English side,
  For sooth and certainlỳ,
A gentle knight, Sir John Fitzhugh,
  It was the more pitỳ.

Sir James Harebotell there was slain,
  For him their hearts were sore
The gentle Lovel there was slain,
  That the Percy's standard bore.

There was slain upon the English side,
  For sooth as I you say,
Of nine thousand Englishmen,
  Five hundred came away;

The others were slaynè in the field,
  Christ keep their souls from woe,
Seeing there were so few friends
  Against so many a foe!

Then on the morn they made them biers
  Of birch and hazel gray;
Many a widow with weeping tears
  Their makes they fetch away.

This fray began at Otterburn,
  Between the night and the day;
There the Douglas lost his life,
  And the Percy was led away.

Then was there a Scottish prisoner ta'en,
  Sir Hugh Montgomery was his name,
For sooth as I you say,
  He borrowed the Percy home again.

Now let us all for the Percy pray,
  To Jesu most of might,
To bring his soul to the bliss of heaven,
  For he was a gentle knight.

Barbara Allen's Cruelty

ALL in the merry month of May,
  When green buds they were swelling,
Young Jemmy Grove on his death-bed lay
  For love o' Barbara Allen.

He sent his man unto her then,
  To the town where she was dwelling:
"O haste and come to my master dear,
  If your name be Barbara Allen."

Slowly, slowly rase she up,
  And she cam' where he was lying;
And when she drew the curtain by,
  Says, "Young man, I think you're dying."

"O it's I am sick, and very, very sick,
  And it's a' for Barbara Allen."
"O the better for me ye'se never be,
  Tho' your heart's blude were a-spilling!

"O dinna ye min', young man," she says,
  "When the red wine ye were filling,
That ye made the healths gae round and round
  And ye slighted Barbara Allen?"

He turn'd his face unto the wa',
  And death was wi' him dealing:
"Adieu, adieu, my dear friends a';
  Be kind to Barbara Allen."

As she was walking o'er the fields,
  She heard the dead-bell knelling;
And every jow the dead-bell gave,
  It cried, "Woe to Barbara Allen!"

"O mother, mother, mak' my bed,
  To lay me down in sorrow.
My love has died for me to-day,
  I'll die for him to-morrow."

The Douglas Tragedy

"RISE up, rise up, now, Lord Douglas," she says,
  "And put on your armour so bright;
Sweet William will hae Lady Margaret awi'
  Before that it be light.

"Rise up, rise up, my seven bold sons,
  And put on your armour so bright,
And take better care of your youngest sistèr,
  For your eldest's awa' the last night."

He's mounted her on a milk-white steed,
  And himself on a dapple grey,
With a buglet horn hung down by his side
  And lightly they rode away.

Lord William lookit o'er his left shouldèr,
  To see what he could see,
And there he spied her seven brethren bold
  Come riding o'er the lea.

"Light down, light down, Lady Margaret," he said,
  "And hold my steed in your hand,
Until that against your seven brethren bold,
  And your father I make a stand."

She held his steed in her milk-white hand,
  And never shed one tear,
Until that she saw her seven brethren fa'
  And her father hard fighting, who loved her so dear.

"O hold your hand, Lord William!" she said,
  "For your strokes they are wondrous sair;
True lovers I can get many a ane,
  But a father I can never get mair."

O, she's ta'en out her handkerchief,
  It was o' the holland sae fine,
And aye she dighted her father's bloody wounds,
  That were redder than the wine.

"O chuse, O chuse, Lady Margaret," he said,
  "O whether will ye gang or bide?"
"I'll gang, I'll gang, Lord William," she said,
  "For you have left me nae other guide."

He's lifted her on a milk-white steed,
  And himself on a dapple grey,
With a buglet horn hung down by his side,
  And slowly they baith rade away.

O they rade on, and on they rade,
  And a' by the light of the moon,
Until they came to yon wan water,
  And there they lighted down.

They lighted down to tak a drink
  Of the spring that ran sae clear;
And down the stream ran his gude heart's blood,
  And sair she 'gan to fear.

"Hold up, hold up, Lord William," she says,
  "For I fear that you are slain!"
"'Tis naething but the shadow of my scarlet cloak,
  That shines in the water sae plain."

O they rade on, and on they rade,
  And a' by the light of the moon,
Until they came to his mother's ha' door,
  And there they lighted down.

"Get up, get up, lady mother," he says,
  "Get up, and let me in!
Get up, get up, lady mother," he says,
  "For this night my fair lady I've win.

"O mak my bed, lady mother," he says,
  "O mak it braid and deep!
And lay Lady Margaret close at my back,
  And the sounder I will sleep."

Lord William was dead lang ere midnight,
  Lady Margaret lang ere day:
And all true lovers that go thegither,
  May they have mair luck than they!

Lord William was buried in St. Marie's kirk,
  Lady Margaret in Marie's quire;
Out o' the lady's grave grew a bonny red rose,
  And out o' the knight's a brier.

And they twa met, and they twa plat
  And fain they wad be near;
And a' the world might ken right weel,
  They were twa lovers dear.

But bye and rade the black Douglas
  And wow but he was rough!
For he pulled up the bonny brièr,
  And flanged in St. Marie's Loch.

THE NIGHT RIDE - REIVERS IN THE SADDLE
(by Mercurial Night aka Lace)


This night the moon
Shall hide her face
Ashamed and afraid
Unwilling to shed her pale virginal light
Upon the ungodly creatures below
No assistance shall she offer
In their unholy ride this night

Stealthy, silent
Muffled hooves betraying none
The Reivers are on the prowl
As ravenous wolves
They scavenge the land
Delivering revenge and death
Upon those unwilling to pay their price

Their prey stays huddled
Lambs to the slaughter
Within stone bastions
Grim and dark
Or meagre dwellings
Weak and frail

Fearful at their hearths
Starting at every sound
Awaiting the unexpected bark
The sly knock on the door
A guttural demand "blackmail"
From a throat hoarse with travel
Beneath eyes black as coal
Impenetrable gaze boring deep
In the light of a dancing torch

Or better still
The thudding rumble
Of many muffled hooves
Riding by
Riding onwards
This night another
More deserving perhaps?
Shall guest the wild dogs tonight
Those devil riders
Who know no law but their own
No master but their own


 

Good

Thank you.  I've been gathering some border ballads and mixing these with my own writing.  I adore the region and it's dark history to match the rugged and wild landscape, often mixed with beautiful valleys.  History lies in every fold of the landscape - incredibly inspirational.

You come from a strong bloodline which left their make up in history.

I'm from Highland (Cameron) and old French stock mixed with a little Viking thrown into add some fire ...all I can say is my ancestresses obviously liked their men strong and masterful 😳