“The last we were told, Mortimer is due sometime on the morrow,” the general replied. “De Lara’s army will have departed long before then.”
De Roche nodded slowly, still thinking. “Perhaps,” he said meditatively. “But we could move to intercept the army as it moves towards Alnwick.”
“We are not even sure that is the destination,” the general reminded him.
“True enough,” de Roche held up a finger. “However, where else would de Lara go? Warkworth is too far and he would not take the army to the seat of his earldom in Carlisle simply for the fact that is too far away over a good deal of treacherous country. So where else would the man go?”
He had a point. The generals and senior soldiers inside the warm, smelly tent looked to each other, conceding the logic. The old vizier popped and creaked as the tent fell silent. All eyes were on Hamlin as he decided his next calculated move.
“If de Lara takes the road to Alnwick, he must swing south for a distance before trekking out towards the sea,” he said thoughtfully. “If we send word to Mortimer’s army to move towards Alnwick instead of straight to Harbottle, there is a good chance we can intercept de Lara’s army on the open road. That would be a far better scenario than laying siege to Harbottle again. The odds will be much more in our favor.”
“You are sure?”
“Sure enough. We must send word to Mortimer immediately so that he knows to hurry.”
The general was already calling for a messenger. Orders were relayed and memorized and soon, the man was along his way. Hamlin stood out of the chaos, watching his men make plans forthe eventual battle. Unlike a siege, battle on open ground was something of a dance; it had to be carefully choreographed or one might end up attacking one’s own men. De Lara was such a clever battle commander that he could quite possibly make it happen. They would have to be very astute in order to avoid the situation.
Hamlin would have to anticipate every move.
*
“I fear Ihave made a gross tactical miscalculation.”
It was mid-afternoon and most of Tate’s army was ready to depart. Hundreds of men filled the bailey of Harbottle and spilled from the gates into the countryside beyond. It was a break in between storms and weak sun shown onto the bailey, struggling to dry up the prolific mud. The army was ready to move out but Tate’s quietly uttered words caught the attention of both Stephen and Kenneth.
“What miscalculation?” Stephen asked.
Tate was in full armor, standing upon the battlements, watching his army mingle with Warkworth’s forces. Stephen was already loaded with weapons, his helm atop his head, and Kenneth had enough armor and weapons strapped on to single-handedly conquer half of England. A wicked-looking crossbow lay slung across one of his enormous shoulders. All three men were ready to ride out but Tate’s words gave them pause.
Tate didn’t reply immediately to Stephen’s query. It was obvious that he was pondering something serious. When he spoke, his focus remained on the bailey below.
“First of all,” he said softly, “I would apologize for my short-sightedness.”
Stephen shook his head, perplexed. “For what?”
Tate took a long breath before turning to his men. “For my mind not being where it should be,” he said quietly. “I have been focused on other things when I should have been focused on our strategy. For every move Mortimer and de Roche make, I must be five steps ahead of them and I fear that I have failed to do that.”
Kenneth unslung the crossbow from his shoulder and stepped closer, curiosity on his face. “What are you talking about, Tate?”
Tate’s gaze moved to the army again and beyond that, the Northumberland landscape. He was facing south, studying the storm that was just leaving. Another was following on its heels and he glanced to the east, watching the dark horizon.
“As I stood here and watched the mobilization, it occurred to me that if we have sent spies out to assess the army to the south, then they most certainly have sent spies to assess our current status as well,” he leaned forward on the parapet. “And, just as we have seen them camped several miles south, they have undoubtedly seen our army preparing to move out.”
Stephen and Kenneth were following his train of thought, nodding in agreement as he reached the end of his sentence. But then he abruptly stopped and the knights looked at him expectantly.
“And?” Kenneth pressed.
Tate turned to look at them. “Think about it,” he hissed. “If Mortimer’s army approaches from the south to reinforce the troops that laid siege to Harbottle two days ago, then what would you, as the commander of Mortimer’s forces, do if you knew that your enemy was about to leave the safe haven of a moderately fortified compound and head onto the open road?”
Kenneth stared at him. “I would move my army to intercept.”
“Which is exactly what I suspect Mortimer will do if, in fact, he is close enough.” Tate shook his head. “I should have realizedthis but I was so concerned with moving Edward and Toby out of a compromised fortress that it did not occur to me, until now, that Mortimer’s army might be close enough to intercept us before we reach Alnwick. It was stupid and short-sighted of me.”
“So what do you suggest?” Kenneth asked.
Tate’s dark eyes were stormy. “We will continue along this path. But if Mortimer engages us on the open road, Edward has a greater chance than ever before of falling into his hands.” He looked between his two knights. “It stands to reason, then, that Edward and the three of us will stay behind as the rest of the army moves to Alnwick.”
Kenneth cocked an eyebrow as the light of understanding dawned. “A diversion?”
