The King Must Die (The Isabella Books) by N. Gemini Sasson Page A

from Northallerton to Newcastle. By now, I had a firm idea in my head of where each was situated, sometimes even the distance between them.
    “As of this morning,” Mortimer said, pressing his finger on the map, the name of the fortress barely a faded scratch on the tattered parchment, “they were here—Barnard Castle.”
    “How many miles?” Sir John asked.
    Mortimer tapped his finger on the spot, and then traced it back to our location. “Sixteen ... by the most direct route.”
    “Within striking distance,” Kent added. “But why haven’t they gone further afield? Why loiter so close by?”
    “Because,” Mortimer said, looking up from the map, “Douglas is well aware of our unwieldiness. He taunts us because he can. He has no intention of ever meeting us in direct battle, even though he’s brought his hobelars further into England than any Scottish army has ever been before. And he’ll leave, like the coward he is, when he’s tired of the sport. So let me ask you, my lords, how do we catch them and bring them to battle?”
    Mortimer’s gaze passed from face to face. A thick silence pervaded the space. Although he had declined command of any sort, clearly they were all looking to him for answers. Finally, his eyes met mine.
    “My lord,” he said, “have you any thoughts on the matter?”
    Beneath my mail, an itchy rash demanded I scratch at places I could not reach. Sweat trickled from my temples, down my neck, dampening my padded gambeson. I spread my fingers on the table’s edge and bent closer to the map. “Why not unload ourselves of our burdens,” I offered, then quickly added, “I mean ... since they’re so close, couldn’t we catch them in a day or two, if we could move more lightly—like they do?”
    Stroking his stubbled chin, Mortimer eased back from the table. “Lord Edmund?”
    Kent flapped his eyelids and shrugged. “I suppose we could leave the supplies and cannons here with the infantry. Take the cavalry, our best archers, some swift-footed men-at-arms as well maybe, and go after them. They’ll have to cross the river somewhere. There is a ford at Corbridge, another one at Tyne.”
    “We’d have to march through the night,” Mortimer said. “If we don’t, they’ll be out of reach again by tomorrow.”
    Norfolk nodded at their every word. He seemed unwilling to openly disagree with anything. “They’d never expect it of us.”
    “Do you agree, Sir John,” I said, hoping this sudden shift in tactics would not erupt into a heated argument and thankful Lancaster was not with us, or else it surely would have, “that if we are to trap them along the river, we must abandon the cannons for now? We’ll need your mounted knights.”
    Readjusting his sword belt, he nodded. “I will do as you command, my lord.”
    His ready obedience took me aback. I expected that one day I would hear the same words from all my lords, but not so soon. I barely knew how to block Will’s blunted sword in training, let alone how to lead an army into battle.
    It was not enough to be a king in name; I had to act as one, even if that meant stepping aside when those around me knew better than me how things should be done. Not doing so had been one of my father’s greatest failings. I would not make the same mistakes. I would seek counsel, listen to it, learn, and when the time came that I knew, beyond all hesitation, what needed to be done, I would do it.
    But today ... today was not the day. I was not ready to carry that burden on my slight shoulders.
    ***
     
    We left in blackest night, stars shrouded by a blanket of clouds. The infantry, the cannons, and any supplies that could not be carried on our saddles were left behind. The road to Barnard Castle twisted and turned. The miles went on and on. I was lulled by a monotony of endlessly plodding hooves, the mournful creak of leather and the sporadic jangle of bits. I closed my eyes and must have fallen asleep, for my body jerked upright as my