On a Foreign Field: A Story of Loyalty and Brotherhood

Chapter One

The eve of battle is like the quiet time before the dawn, the calm before a storm breaks. It’s hushed and still like no other time in a camp. All normal talk and bluster of soldiers dies down to an almost eerie silence. The men sit quiet in their own thoughts, burnishing their weapons for the coming fight. They know that the next day they could die, or they would surely have to suffer their comrades dying, and musings turn to home and family and the other things that a man will think about when he’s in a thoughtful mood. The kind of mood that the shadow of death puts one in.

Sir Reeve Montgomery sat on the small cot in his tent, a lamp sitting on a table beside him and his sword across his knees as he put an edge on it, making sure there were no notches that would weaken it the next day. This would be the first real battle he fought as a knight and he was determined to live through it. Before he left, he had promised his sister that he would see her again when this Scottish insurrection was crushed, and he had never broken his word to her before.

The tent flap was shoved aside and Reeve looked up to see his friend, Gerard, look in with a small smile.

Want some company? he asked and Reeve nodded, motioning for him to come and sit down. Gerard took the small collapsible stool by the desk and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

Any changes? Reeve asked him as he set his sword aside and took his mail tunic up in its place, checking to make sure all the links were strong and not rusted.

Gerard shook his head. No. It’s still war. Lennox and Steward refuse to make peace with us.

Fools, Reeve said. Sir James Steward and the Earl of Lennox were the political side of the Scottish army, and the Englishman found it strange that they would go to such lengths to make war on a force that could easily decimate them. But the patriot leader, William Wallace, along with another rebel, Andrew Murray, were firebrands and would not give up without a fight.

Surrey’s giving them one more chance in the morning, Gerard told him. Then we fight.

They won’t heed the warning; they’re fools and dreamers, Reeve said with some disdain. He didn’t take much to dreamers. Living with his father and older brother had cured him of that. His father was a practical man, never given to dreaming or praise of any kind, especially to Reeve. He had lost interest in his younger son ever since Reeve was a lad dreaming of being a knight and going on quests like the men who had fought under the legendary King Arthur. His father was a Sussex lord, a trading entrepreneur and also in King Edward’s parliament. Reeve’s older brother, Matthew, was just the same, and their father’s pride. Reeve had never been able to meet his father’s favor and when he was fourteen, he had run off to squire with his mother’s brother who was a knight. His uncle Horatio had trained him into the knight he was today. If he had been here, Reeve would have felt much better for the coming battle, but Horatio had been sent to France to fight with King Edward.

They are fools and dreamers, Gerard agreed with a nod. And fools and dreamers rarely make it off the battlefield alive. We’ll give them a bloody fine thrashing in the morning and send them back to their beloved, cold wasteland. Then I can return and wed my beautiful Elizabeth. The young man smiled fondly at the thought of his ladylove and Reeve grinned at him as he stood up to hang his mail shirt on the armor tree at one side of his tent.

And I shall be there to see it done, he said. I don’t fear what the Scots can do to us. We are men of England. And we shall prove our steel against them tomorrow in battle and show them how it is that real men fight.

Aye, Gerard agreed heartily before the tent flap was once again pulled aside.

Harold, what news? Reeve asked as a third man entered the tent.

There’s been a small skirmish it seems, he told them. Lennox and Steward came across some of our men foraging and they went completely mad and killed one of ours! They refuse to make peace now. It will surely be battle on the morrow.


Well it’s better to know for certain than to grieve about it all night, Gerard commented as he stood up. If we are to fight, I must see to my kit. Rest you well, Reeve. We shall do battle in the morning!


Reeve bid his comrades a good night before he turned to his sword and again sheathed it, propping it against his bed. He decided sleep would be a good thing, but yet he could somehow not fathom sleeping right now. He checked his own kit again, making sure there was no rust on any of his armor and that his tabard with his family device on it was clean and had no rips. The Scots would be in shambles tomorrow and Reeve felt it would be important to dress according to his rank as a knight of the realm. There was nothing worse than a shabby turnout of soldiers.

He sat down at his desk where a candle stood to light the tent with a warm glow. He decided he would write a letter to his sister in the case that something were to happen to him on the morrow and entrust it to the care of one of his companions if the worst were to occur. Adeline, his younger and only sister, was the only person besides his mother who still truly loved him. She was now staying with their cousins in Northumberland, for Reeve had told her before he left to leave Sussex for her own sanity. She had been in love with a man who had turned out to be less than she was hoping for and he had run off with another woman. It had taken her a long time to get over it, but she was doing much better with the change of scene that the northern country provided. She still wrote to him and passed his letters on to their mother. Reeve had stopped writing directly home once he had found out that his father destroyed any letters he wrote to his mother before they got to her. He was considered a disgrace to his family; a ‘common soldier’ who sneered at the family fortune. Reeve had never wanted the family fortune like Matthew; he had wanted to fight for his country. He had always wondered why his father had wanted him to be a money-grubbing liar instead of an honest man. His uncle had told him it was because his father resented him for his courage which he himself did not possess, but Reeve was never sure if that was the truth or not.

He frowned as he wrote his letter. He didn’t really know what to say. He refused to write anything about ‘if you are reading this, I am likely dead...’ but he did want to say something to his sister if he were to fall on the field tomorrow. He had never been good with parting words; he had usually just left in the past without saying much of anything. In the end, he gave her some words of encouragement and wrote another short letter that he enclosed for his mother. He sealed them and tied them up with string for good measure before he propped the package against the inkwell and stood up, determined to get some rest before the next day. He pulled off his jerkin and boots and lay down on the small cot, folding one arm behind his head. He reached up to his throat for the locket there. It had been his mother’s and she had given it to Adeline before she had left. Adeline though, had sent to it Reeve in her last letter to him, saying she wanted him to have something to bring him luck.

When this war was over he would go to see her again. Perhaps take her to Gerard and Elizabeth’s wedding. But he really had no right to think about any of that until he watched the sun set the next eve, for only then could he be sure he had lived through the day.

Don’t fret so, he told himself with a small wry smile. You are a knight of England. No one can stand against you. He eventually fell asleep with that thought, though some unknown omen left him restless for the rest of the night.

Chapter Two

Reeve woke suddenly the next morning just as the sun was rising and sat up on his cot. Already wide-awake, he threw the blanket aside and stood up, pulling on his padded jerkin and sitting again to pull on his boots. He was just lacing them up when Gerard came into his tent, already dressed in his armor.

To battle then? Reeve asked as he stood to take his mail off the armor tree where he had put it the night before.

Gerard nodded. We’re getting ready to go across the river. He helped Reeve get the mail shirt over his head and then took up the besagues that would protect his shoulders and upper arms, strapping those on as well. Reeve bent to strap on the awkward greaves that would protect his legs. They were hard to walk in and near impossible to fight in on foot, but they protected a rider on a horse. The last part of the outfit was the tabard that bore his family’s crest, which he belted around the waist with his sword belt, feeling the familiar weight of the blade rest against his hip. It brought comfort to him. It was the one his uncle had given him when he won his spurs. Again he wished Horatio could be here to fight beside him instead of following the king on his conquest of France but this was how it would be. The only thing he truly wished was that he could live through the day to tell of the battle.

Gerard, Reeve said to his friend as he finished looping his belt around his waist, putting a hand on the other man’s shoulder. There is this letter on my desk for Adeline. If anything should happen to me today, would you or Harold make sure it gets to her?


Of course, Reeve, Gerard told him, clasping his forearm with a clash of metal on metal. You know I would not think of shirking in that duty. Might I ask the same of you to tell Elizabeth if something is to happen to me?


Reeve nodded. It will be done, though I hope it doesn’t have to be. He took up his helm as the two young men stepped out of the tent, to procure their horses. The squires and stable lads already had them saddled and ready. Harold was waiting for his two comrades, seated on his large roan destrier.

Lord Surrey has yet to appear, he said with a slightly mocking smile. I fear he might be getting a little on in years for campaigning, if he cannot even get out of bed at dawn.

The sound of loud orders came from over by the River Forth. Reeve had taken stock of the landscape when they had made camp. The tactics were obvious. The large river separated them from the Scottish army and in order to get across, they would be forced to cross the bridge that ran over the Forth. If he turned back to their camp, he could see Stirling Castle in the distance. They held Stirling, and that gave him a certain pride. Wallace might have taken back most of the Scottish cities that had before been English garrisons, but they still held this castle that they were fighting under, and they would win the day because of it. The Scottish rabble might have done fine in quick attacks, but they would be no match for trained English soldiers and knights on horseback.

Reeve mounted his big black battle horse and the boy who was tending to it handed him his shield. Reeve hooked it over the pommel along with his helmet. There was no reason to encumber himself before the battle started. He looked again over to where the orders had been shouted earlier and saw the hugely fat figure of Cressingham on the back of a horse, trying to make the men line up and cross the bridge.

What is that idiot doing? Harold asked with a scoffing laugh. Does he think he’s in charge of the army?

I heard the men talking yesterday, Gerard said. Lord Cressingham thinks Surrey is wasting time and money and he wants to get this over with as soon as possible.

The king’s treasurer will hardly make a good military leader, Harold said then looked over Reeve’s shoulder. Ah, there comes old Surrey now. We had best form up.


Earl Surrey had been appointed Keeper of Scotland by King Edward and had done an admirable job the previous year at the Battle of Dunbar where many important Scottish nobles were taken captive and put into prison. Despite Harold’s scoffing remarks, Reeve had to admit he was a good military leader; if not quite as young as he used to be, he could still prove ruthless if he wanted to.

They got their horses over to where the rest of the knights were forming up just in time to hear the loud argument between Surrey and Cressingham.

What do you think you are doing?! I did not give the order to move out! I must send one last appeal to surrender!

Then perhaps you should get that done with; we are wasting too much time with this foolish rabble, Cressingham told him angrily. All we have spent on this pitiful uprising should have gone to our men in France months ago!

Must I again remind you who leads here? Surrey stated coldly and snapped to the nearest officer. Bring those men back, you fool! You take orders from me only in the future! Do you understand me?

Reeve looked across the river again, noticing for the first time that the Scottish army had formed up. They looked small compared to the English, and Reeve again wondered, with almost a bit of pity, how they thought they could possibly win.

They don’t look in any mood for surrender, Gerard said quietly.

Don’t worry, my friend, Reeve told him with a grin. Once this day is over we shall drink ale and celebrate our victory. There is not a hope that their small untrained army can hope to withstand the might of England.

Two riders started to make their way across the field to the bridge and crossed it, the horses’ hooves clattering hollowly. Surrey motioned to the guards to stand down and went to meet the two newcomers. Reeve recognized them as Steward and Lennox, the Scottish lords who had been in the camp the day before trying to come to some sort of terms with Surrey.

Have you come now to surrender to His Majesty, King Edward I of England? Surrey asked the Scotsmen as they stopped their horses in front of his own.

On the contrary, Steward told him coldly. We have come to tell you that we will not accept any terms you might deem to give us, and we will take our chances on the field today.


You would do well, my lord, not to listen to the words of such hot tempered young rebels as Wallace and Murray, Surrey told them disdainfully. No one should wish for war.


We do what we must, Lennox told him before the two turned and headed back to the Scottish army once more.

Surrey called for two Dominican friars who followed the army. Give them one last chance to surrender, and if they fail to heed this warning then we shall have no choice but to do battle with them.

The friars hurried off across the bridge. They returned soon after with no better news.

Well? Surrey asked upon their return.

They said they do not want peace, said one of the friars. That they came to do war.


Fools, Harold laughed derisively to his companions. We’ll show them what it means to do war with Englishmen.

Very well, form up to cross the bridge, Surrey said and the order was relayed around the men as he spurred his horse off to the back of the column.

My lord, said a knight Reeve knew as a Sir Richard Lundie. Perhaps I should take some men and move around behind the Scottish position to trap them. I know of a ford in the river where we can cross.


No time for that! Cressingham cut in quickly with a snap. We have wasted enough time on this bloody nonsense as it is! I shall lead the men from the front.

Fool, he won’t last more than a few minutes! Harold said as they watched the light infantry and archers move across the bridge first. Forming up on the other side of the river was a very slow process, because only so many men could fit on the bridge at once. By the time the knights began to cross, they found they could only do so two abreast and the numbers dragged on and on.

Reeve looked out to the Scottish army, now closer in front of them. He searched the crowd, wondering which one was the infamous William Wallace. He figured he might be standing in the group under the banners but he wasn’t sure. They really were a rag-tag bunch, and Reeve felt a confidence he really shouldn’t have felt before a battle. His uncle had always told him that getting overconfident was a good way to get yourself killed, but surely even his uncle Horatio would have laughed at the prospect of real knights fighting this group of savages.

The whole field was quiet except for the sound of the men’s armor clanking and the horse’s hooves on the bridge. Reeve was sitting his horse between Gerard and Harold in the second line of cavalry. Up ahead, he could see Cressingham, so fat he wondered how the horse he was riding could take his weight. The man was no military leader and Reeve thought that Harold’s prediction would most likely be true; he would be one of the first to meet death in a charge.

He had half expected the Scots to start charging at them by now, but they seemed to be more disciplined than he had thought, for the English army was still moving over the bridge and Wallace had not yet made a move.

By now, about half the English troops had made it over, but they were still coming and Reeve looked back to see how many there were left.

The relative silence was suddenly broken by the loud call of a war trumpet. Reeve’s horse started slightly under him, ready for the charge that seemed to be eminent as Reeve swung around to the Scottish army again where the trumpet call had come from. He readied himself for the imminent charge and lowered the visor of his helmet, getting a good grip on his reigns and starting to reach to the sheath on his saddle to draw his sword.

But the Scots did not move. Instead a huge rending crash sounded behind them and Reeve with the rest of the army spun around as one man, watching in horror as Stirling Bridge cracked and fell into the rushing River Forth, spilling shocked men into the deep water. There was a fierce struggle and some men tried to help their comrades, but the knights in armor had no chance, for their heavy mail drug them down before anyone could do anything to save them.

It was in that moment of confusion that a great war cry sounded out from the Scottish army and they finally began their charge across the field.

Chapter Three

It was in a spilt second that Reeve realized how desperate their situation was now. They had been cut off from the rest of their army with no hope of them being able to find a ford in the river to cross in time. Their numbers were now mostly equal to the Scots and Reeve hoped they would have the sense to stand and fight as one instead of scatter and make it easier to be picked off by the enemy. Men could train for years to hold a formation, but one never knew how they would react when faced with the real enemy.

The Scots had charged at them in two columns, trapping the English in the middle. The archers released their deadly rain and arrows found targets as they fell onto the opposing army. Reeve and his companions spurred their horses on immediately, knowing that to stand still was to die. Reeve swung his sword from its sheath and urged his horse forward at the charging Scotsmen, swinging the blade in a flashing arch and shouting out a war cry of his own. There was a huge clash that sounded as the two armies met head on. Reeve was immediately separated from Harold and Gerard in the mêlée. A lot of the knights realized too late that they had been led into a marsh and their horses were sinking in the muck, weighed down by armor. Reeve hoped neither of his friends were caught in the mire to be easy prey for the Scots. He wanted to go back and look for them, but he knew how foolish that was in a battle. You looked ahead, only at your enemy and you killed and killed again until it was done; only then could you spare the time to look for lost comrades.

He hacked left and right with his sword, catching a spear wielded by a screaming Scotsman on his shield with enough strength behind it to bruise his shoulder. He gritted his teeth against the pain as he stabbed downward with his blade and took the man through the chest. He felt hands grip his tabard from behind and he spun just fast enough to stop the man from hauling him from his saddle where he would be sure to meet a grisly end at the point of the long broadsword the man carried. He jerked his sword pommel-first into the man’s head and his attacker fell back instantly.

Reeve suddenly caught a movement out of the corner of his eye and he turned with his sword swinging up for a blow but the man who had been there was already gone. Then his horse lurched under him and whinnied in pain, rearing up before it bolted.

Reeve was flung from the back of the beast, realizing that he had been victim to one of the Scottish dirkers; lithe, fast men, who ran around the field, ducking underneath horses and jabbing their bellies with their dirks to make them throw their riders. Reeve was flung onto the boggy ground, hauling himself up with difficulty in his heavy armor. He quickly un-buckled the plates that covered his shoulders and the greaves protecting his legs. There was no need for them now on the ground; they would only hamper him, and if he was going to have to swim the river...

He quickly looked around at the warriors and knights who were rushing past. He caught sight of a fearsome Scotsman running toward him, his giant claymore upraised. Reeve stood his ground and met the man head on, ducking under the great sword and swinging a blow to the man’s legs. The Scotsman leapt to one side and with a wild yell, swept his heavy sword at Reeve.

The knight flung himself to the ground and rolled just in time, coming up several feet away only to be struck from behind by an arrow. He staggered forward as it drove into his side, cutting through the chain mail and the padded tabard under it to his flesh. He gasped at the sudden pain and subconsciously thought in one of those oddly perceptive moments in a time of danger, that it was one of their own armor-piercing arrows. He looked back up at the Scotsman who had been fighting him. The man was sneering now, raising his sword for the final strike. Reeve got his sword up just in time, but the man swung lower than he had judged, and the tip kept going, cutting deeply into Reeve’s thigh. The Englishman gave one last wild yell as he lunged forward with his sword and stabbed the Scotsman through the middle, his leg giving out at the last minute so that he fell headlong into the boggy ground.

He hauled himself up again, breathing heavily from the pain. He could feel himself weakening from blood loss and he knew he had to get out of there soon before