Taken by Angeline Fortin (ebook reader with android os TXT) 📕

The first were clear enough.  Flodden: 500 Years.  The field of Flodden sat no more than two miles to the west of Ford Castle.  A wide-open space with a ridge excellent for the strategic placement of their troops.  Troops that were already gathering there.

Below the broadly written heading was a statement of an exhibition honoring the five hundredth anniversary of the battle.  Five hundred years.  If Scarlett spoke true, she had come to him from a time far beyond his imagination.  That more than anything made it difficult to grasp the veracity of her claim.  Ironically enough, James had gotten to a place in his mind where he might have accepted a hundred years, perhaps even two but five hundred was mind-boggling.

Perhaps in another day or two he might wrap his mind around such a great number but…

According to prophecy contained in the pamphlet, they didn’t have that long.

“Surrey has troops pouring in from all over the northwest and northeast corners of England,” Lindsay pointed out.  “He’s sent a bluidy challenge to remain in this area so that we might meet him in battle on the ninth day of September.  That’s bluidy well two days from now!”

James had seen the letter and the one that had followed it from Surrey’s son, Thomas Howard, the Lord Admiral.  That more insulting missive had concluded in the brash statement that he would ‘expect no quarter and will give none, other than to your majesty, should you be delivered into my hands.’

According to the words in Scarlett’s brochure, Howard would not have that chance.  King James IV would die on the field of battle.  The last reigning monarch to do so.

Ironic given his cocky response to Surrey’s letter.  ‘To meet the English in battle is so much my wish, that had your message found me in Edinburgh, I should have relinquished all other business to meet you in the field.’

And meet them they would.

“Surrey expected us to stay near Ford Castle.  He willnae like it that we hae crossed the River Till and positioned our forces on the high ridge of Flodden Field,” Sir William explained.  “’Twill gi’ us an excellent advantage in meeting Surrey, leaving him to face an uphill assault when he comes to us.  Already our defenses are prepared for battle.”

Surrey’s intelligence had taken note of their fortifications.  Strong on the eastern and western flanks. Another letter had arrived from, complaining about the advantageous location and challenging King James to come down off his hill to do battle.

Aware of its contents, the King had refused to receive it.

According to their own spies, Surrey was leaving Woller Haugh to take up a better position and a new challenge had been received that day urging King James to come forth and meet him there, hoping, no doubt, that James would leave his more strategic position.  The King had responded to the challenge by saying ‘it beseems not an earl to handle a King after this fashion.’

King James would not be told what to do.  There was some relief in that, at least.  But it wouldn’t be enough.  None of their efforts would if the words in the brochure were made true.

Ten thousand men.  The number echoed through James’ mind.  Friends, family. His father.  His cousin.  Uncles.  Mayhap brothers and as Scarlett pointed out, himself. He was no coward but neither was he a fool.

If it were truth, indeed.

“Your Grace, we’ve gone o’er and o’er the intelligence that we hae at this point,” the Lindsay told him. “Many of our troops hae deserted, taking the booty thus far won and running back home.  We are short of provisions as well.  It is my advice and counsel, Your Grace, that we withdraw from this meeting and reassess our chances for victory.”

“Nay, I willnae hae it,” Sir William shot back, while others on the King’s council nodded their agreement.  “Henry has forced our hand and we cannae back down.”

King James inclined his head.  “I find I maun agree wi’ my council on this, Lindsay.  We cannae let Henry’s insults stand.  We hae the manpower and the position.  We’ll ne’er hae another chance like this.”

“’Tis yer fault,” the elderly Earl of Angus, known as ‘Bell the Cat’ said, glowering at La Motte, the French emissary, who along with his cohorts had been training the Scottish troops in the use of the long pike over the last month.  “Ye encouraged him in this folly to gain our fleet for yer own use.”

“I’ve done no such thing, monsieur,” La Motte replied tiredly.  “The choices of your monarch are his own.”

King James sighed, waving his hand dismissively.  “Angus, if yer afraid, go home.”

Angus bristled up like a cock and stood.  “And so I shall.  Yer an arrogant fool, Jamie Stewart.”  Then he was gone, the door slamming behind him.

“Anyone else?” the King asked, glancing about the room with narrowed eyes.

“Your Grace,” James began hesitantly but continued more assertively as he levered himself from his chair.  “Perhaps it might be to our best advantage to listen to the Lindsay’s opinion on the matter.”

Everyone in the room stopped and stared at him, including Sir William and the Lindsay himself.  Even the King himself was nonplussed by the verbal support of a Lindsay by a Hepburn.  “Ye agree wi’ the Lindsay, Hepburn?”

“James,” Sir William hissed under his breath.  “Enough.”

But now that he’d begun, Laird couldn’t back down.  Scarlett’s dire warnings rang in his ears.  What if she were right?  Shaking his head in his father’s general direction, he took a step toward his sovereign.  “Aye, Your Grace.  I believe the Lindsay’s arguments are valid.  We may hae underestimated our foe and waited too long to press forward.”

“Is that so?”

James nodded.

“Then yer as much a fool as Lindsay if ye think I’ll gi’ up an inch of ground now,” King James said.  “I’ve come this far.  Ye think I’ll turn tail like a whipped pup?  Nay, we press forward