The White Horses

by Halliwell Sutcliffe

  *CHAPTER XVI.*

  *THE SCOTS AT MICKLEGATE.*

  Michael was in high spirits as he rode for York with Christopher. Hewore Puritan raiment, and it was troublesome to keep his steeple-hatsafely on his head; but the wine of adventure was in his veins, andclothing mattered little.

  "Once into York, my lad," he said, breaking a long silence, "and weshall get our fill of turmoil. There'll be sorties and pitched battlewhen Rupert comes."

  Kit was always practical when he had his brother for companion. "We arenot into York as yet. What plan have you, Michael?"

  "My usual plan--to trust to luck. She's a bonnie mare to ride, I tellyou."

  "But the papers we took from the three Roundheads in the tavern--we hadbest know what they pledge us to."

  "The Prince was right, after all. He said that you would steady me. Itis odd, Kit, but it never entered my daft head to look at the papers; itwas enough that they were our passport."

  They drew rein, and Michael ran his eye down the papers. "They say thatRupert is marching fast for the relief of York--that will be no news tothem by this time--that the Prince has inflicted disastrous reverses ontheir cause, at Bolton and by relieving Lathom House, and that, at anycost of life, York must be reduced before his coming. Oh, my lad, howall this plays into Rupert's hands!"

  There was only one weakness in Michael's gay assurance that all wasspeeding well. When they reached the outposts of the enemy's lines,their way led them, as it chanced, to that quarter of the city which theScots beleaguered. Their garb, Michael's peremptory demand that thesentry should pass them forward to the officer in command, backed up byshowing of his papers, had their effect. It was when they foundthemselves in the presence of five Parliament officers, seated at atrestle table ill supplied with food, that they began to doubt theventure.

  "Who are these?" asked one of the five, regarding the strangers withmingled humour and contempt.

  "They were passed forward by the sentry, Captain. That is all I know."

  "Who are they?" laughed a young lieutenant. "Why, Puritans, both ofthem, and preachers, too, by the look of their wearing-gear. It needsno papers to prove that."

  Michael was always steadied by surprise. They had garbed themselves socarefully; they were acknowledged as friends of the Parliament cause; hewas at a loss to understand the chilliness of their reception."Puritans undoubtedly," he said, with a hint of his old levity, "butwe've never been found guilty of the charge of preaching."

  Captain Fraser glanced through the papers, and his air of rudecarelessness changed. "This is of prime importance. By the Bruce,sirs, the Parliament has chosen odd-looking messengers, but I thank youfor the bringing of your news."

  Within ten minutes the Metcalfs were ushered into the presence of acheery, thick-set man, who proved to be Leslie, the general in commandof the Scots. He, too, read the papers with growing interest.

  "H'm, this is good news," he muttered. "_At any cost of life_. Thatleaves me free. I've been saying for weeks past that famine anddissensions among ourselves will raise the siege, without anyintervention from Prince Rupert. Your name, sir?" he asked, turningsharply to Michael.

  Michael, by some odd twist of memory, recalled Banbury and the name of atownsman who had given him much trouble there. "Ebenezer Drinkwater, atyour service."

  "And, gad, you look it! Your face is its own credential. Well, Mr.Drinkwater, you have my thanks. Go seek what food you can find incamp--there may be devilled rat, or stewed dog, or some such daintyleft."

  Kit, who did not share his brother's zest in this play of intrigue, hada quick impulse to knock down the general in command, without thought ofthe consequences. The insolence of these folk was fretting his temperinto ribbons.

  "Come, brother," said Michael, after a glance at the other's face. "Wecan only do our work, not needing praise nor asking it. Virtue, we aretold, is in itself reward."

  A gruff oath from Leslie told him that he was acting passably well; andthey went out, Kit and he, with freedom to roam unmolested up and downthe lines.

  "What is your plan?" asked Kit impatiently.

  "We must bide till sundown, and that's an hour away. Meanwhile, lad, weshall keep open ears and quiet tongues."

  They went about the camp, and everywhere met ridicule and a hostilityscarcely veiled; but there was a strife of tongues abroad, and from manyscattered drifts of talk they learned the meaning of the odd welcomethey had found. The Scots, it seemed, had found the rift grow widerbetween themselves and the English who were besieging York's two othergates. The rift had been slight enough when the first joy of siege, thehope of reducing the good city, had fired their hearts. Week by weekhad gone by, month after month; hunger and a fierce drought had eatenbare the countryside, and hardships are apt to eat through the lightupper-crust of character.

  The Metcalfs learned that the dour Scots and the dour Puritans were atenmity in the matter of religion; and this astonished them, for they didnot know how deep was the Scottish instinct for discipline and order intheir Church affairs. They learned, too--and this was voiced morefrequently--that they resented the whole affair of making war upon aStuart king. They had been dragged into the business, somehow; but everat their hearts--hearts laid bare by privation and ill-health--there wasthe song of the Stuarts, bred by Scotland to sit on the English throneand to grace it with great comeliness.

  It was astounding to the Metcalfs, this heart of a whole army bared tothe daylight. There had been skirmishes, they heard, between LordFairfax's men and the Scots. The quarrel was based ostensibly on somematter of foraging in each other's country; but it was plain that theScots were glad of any excuse which offered--plain that they were morehostile to their allies than to the common enemy. Then, too, there wasmutiny breeding among the soldiery, because their scanty pay was uselessfor the purchase of food at famine prices.

  "We must find a way in," said Michael by and by. "The garrison shouldknow all this at once. They could sortie without waiting for thePrince's coming."

  The Barbican at Micklegate was too formidable an affair to undertake.What Michael sought was some quieter way of entry. They had reached theedge of the Scottish lines by now. The clear, red light showed themthat odd neck of land bounded by Fosse Water and the Ouse, showed themthe Castle, with Clifford's Tower standing stark and upright like asentry who kept watch and ward. Within that neck of land were Royalistswho waited for the message, as lovers wait at a stile for a ladyover-late.

  "We _must_ win in," said Michael.

  "Well, brothers," said a gruff voice behind them, "are you as sick toget into York as we are? You're late come to the siege, by the well-fedlook of you."

  "Just as sick," assented Michael cheerfully. "By the look of you, you'reone of Lord Fairfax's men at Walmgate Bar. Well, it is pleasant to beamong good Puritans again, after the cold welcome given us by the Scotsat Micklegate."

  So then the trooper talked to them as brother talks to brother. Withinfive minutes they learned all that the English thought of their Scottishallies, and what they thought would not look comely if set down onpaper.

  Michael warmed to the humour of it. The man with the heart of aCavalier and the raiment of a Puritan hears much that is useful from theadversary. He told of their late errand, the safe delivery of theirpapers, and the contents. He explained--confidentially, as friend tofriend--that he had an errand of strategy, and must get into York beforesundown. Was there any quiet way of entry?

  "Well, there's what they call a postern gate nigh handy," said thetrooper, with the burr in his speech that any Wharfedale man would haveknown. "D'ye hear the mill-sluice roaring yonder? Though it beats mehow she can roar at all, after all this droughty season."

  "It has been a dry time and a dreary for our friends," put in Michael,with unctuous sympathy.

  "Drear? I believe ye. If I'd known what war and siege meant, the Kingmight have bided at Whitehall for ever--Star Chamber taxe
s or no-- foraught I cared. At first it rained everything, save ale and victuals;and then, for weeks on end, it droughted. There's no sense in suchweather."

  "But the cause, friend--the cause. What is hardship compared with theParliament's need?"

  "Parliament is as Parliament does. For my part, I've got three teethaching, to my knowledge, and other-some beginning to nag. You're apreacher, by the look o' ye. Well, spend a week i' the trenches, andsee how it fares with preaching. There's no lollipops about this cursedsiege o' York."

  Kit could only marvel at his brother's grave rebuke, at the quietnesswith which he drew this man into talk--drew him, too, along the bank ofFosse Water till they stood in the deafening uproar of the weir.

  "There's the postern yonder," said the trooper--"Fishgate Postern, theycall it. Once you're through on your errand, ye gang over Castle MillsBrigg, and the durned Castle stands just beyond."

  Michael nodded a good-day and a word of thanks, and hammered at thepostern gate. A second summons roused the sentry, who opened guardedly.

  "Who goes there?" he asked, with a sleepy hiccough.

  Kit thrust his foot into the door, put his whole weight against it, andonly the slowness of rusty hinges saved the sentry from an untimely end."You can talk well, Michael, but give me the doing of it," he growled.

  Kit gripped the sentry, neck and crop, while Michael bolted the door.Then they pushed their captive across Mills Bridge, and found themselvesin the evening glow that lay over St. George's Field. For a moment theywere bewildered. The roar of the mill-sluice had been in their ears solately that the quietness within York's walls was a thing oppressive.The sounds of distant uproar came to them, but these were like echoesonly, scarce ruffling the broad charity and peace of the June eventide.They could not believe that eleven thousand loyalists, horse and foot,were gathered between the city's ramparts.

  The sentry, sobered by the suddenness of the attack and Kit's roughhandling, asked bluntly what their business was. "It's as much as myskin is worth, all this. Small blame to me, say I, if I filled thatskin a trifle over-full. Liquor is the one thing plentiful in thiscursed city. What is your business?"

  "Simple enough," said Michael. "Go find my Lord Newcastle and tell himtwo Puritans are waiting for him. They are tired of laying siege toYork, and have news for his private ear."

  "A likely tale!"

  "Likelier than being throttled where you stand. You run less risk theother way. What is the password for the day?"

  "Rupert of the Rhine," said the other sullenly.

  "That's a good omen, then. Come, man, pluck your heart out of yourboots and tell Lord Newcastle that we knocked on the gate and gave thecounter-sign. Tell him we wait his pleasure. We shall shadow you untilyou do the errand."

  The sentry had a gift of seeing the common sense of any situation. Heknew that Newcastle was in the Castle, closeted with his chief officersin deliberation over the dire straits of the city; and he went in searchof him.

  Newcastle listened to his tale of two big Puritans--preachers, by thelook of them--who had found entry through the postern by knowledge ofthe password. "So they wait our pleasure, do they?" said Newcastleirascibly. "Go tell them that when my gentlemen of York go out to meetthe Puritans, it will be beyond the city gates. Tell them that spiesand informers must conform to their livery, and come to us, not we tothem. If they dispute the point--why, knock their skulls together andpitch them into Castle Weir."

  "They are big, and there are two of them, my lord."

  A droll Irishman of the company broke into a roar of laughter. Thesentry's face was so woebegone, his statement of fact so pithy, thateven Newcastle smiled grimly. "Soften the message, then, but bring themin."

  To the sentry's astonishment, the two Puritans came like lambs at hisbidding; and after they were safely ushered into the Castle dining-hall,the sentry mutely thanked Providence for his escape, and went in searchof further liquor. As a man of common sense, he reasoned that therewould be no second call to-night at a postern that had stoodun-challenged for these three weeks past.

  Michael, when he came into the room, cast a quick glance round thecompany. He saw Newcastle and Eythin, and a jolly, red-faced Irishman,and many others; and memory ran back along the haps and mishaps ofwarfare in the open to a night when he had swum Ouse River and met justthis band of gentlemen at table. He pulled his steeple-hat over hiseyes and stood there, his shoulders drooping, his hands crossed in frontof him.

  "Well," demanded Newcastle, his temper raw and unstable through longcaring for the welfare of his garrison. "If we are to discuss anybusiness, you may remove your quaint head-gear, sirs. My equalsuncover, so you may do as much."

  "Puritans do not, my lord," Michael interrupted. "What are men that weshould uncover to them?"

  "Men circumstanced as we are have a short way and a ready with cant andsteeple-headed folk."

  "Yet the password," insisted the other gently. "_Rupert of the Rhine_.It has a pleasant sound. They say he is near York's gates, and it was wewho brought him."

  The Irishman, thinking him mad or drunk, or both, and irritated beyondbearing by his smooth, oily speech, reached forward and knocked his hathalf across the room.

  "Oh, by the saints!" he roared; "here's the rogue who came in lastspring, pretty much in the clothes he was born in, after swimming OuseRiver--the jolly rogue who swore he'd find Rupert for us."

  "At your service, gentlemen--as dry as I was wet when we lastencountered. Will none of you fill me a brimmer?"

  Lord Newcastle, if something raw in experience of warfare and itstactics, was a great-hearted man of his world, with a lively humour anda sportsman's relish for adventure. He filled the brimmer himself, andwatched Michael drain half of it at one thirsty, pleasant gulp. "Nowfor your news," he said.

  "Why, my lord, I pledged the Metcalf honour that we'd bring Rupert toyou, and he lies no further off than Knaresborough."

  "Good," laughed the Irishman. "I said you could trust a man who sworeby the sword he happened not to be carrying at the moment."

  "And your friend?" asked Newcastle, catching sight of Christopher, as hestood moving restlessly from foot to foot.

  "Oh, just my brother--the dwarf of our company. Little, but full ofmeat, as our Yoredale farmers say when they bring small eggs to market.To be precise, Kit here is worth three of me. They call him the WhiteKnight in Oxford."

  So Kit in his turn drank the heady wine of praise; and then Michael,with swift return to the prose of everyday, told all he knew of Rupert'smovements, all that he had learned of the famine and dissension outsidethe city gates.

  "The Prince bade you all be ready for the sortie when he came," hefinished. "For my part, I think we might sortie now and save him thetrouble of scattering these ragabouts."

  "Ah, life's a droll jade," murmured the Irishman. "We fancied they weredoing fairly well out yonder, while we were cooped up here like chickensin a pen. Will you give me the sortie, my lord? The light's waningfast."

  "Ay, lead them, Malone," laughed Newcastle. "I shall be glad to givemettled colts their exercise."

  The sentry at the Mills postern gate was suffering evil luck to-night.He had scarcely settled himself on his bench inside the gate, a tankardof ale beside him, and a great faith that the odds were all against hisbeing disturbed twice in the same evening, when there came a splutter ofrunning feet outside and a knocking on the door. Memory of the earlierguests was still with him, sharpened by the sting of aches and bruises.

  "No more gentle Puritans for me," he growled. "They can knock as theylist; for my part, I'm safer in company with home-brewed ale."

  He listened to the knocking. Drink and his rough experience of awhilesince, between them, brought a coldness to his spine, as if it were areed shivering in some upland gale.

  Then warmth returned to him. A voice he knew told him of what hadhappened outside York, and insisted that its bearer should bring thegood news in.

  "Why, Matthew, is it only
thee?" asked the sentry, his mouth against thespacious keyhole.

  "Who else? Open, thou durned fool. My news willun't bide."

  Lord Newcastle had scarcely given consent to the sortie, when the sentrycame again to the dining-chamber, pushing in front of him a lean, raggedfigure of a man who seemed to have found a sudden shyness, until Michaelburst into a roar of laughter. "Here's a gallant rogue! It was by hishelp I won into York last spring. Sutler, I thank you for the donkeypurchased from you."

  "Is she well, sir?" asked the other eagerly. "I aye had a weakness forthe skew-tempered jade."

  "Come, your news?" snapped Newcastle.

  "It's this way, gentles. I can talk well enough when I'm sellingproduce for the best price it will fetch--and prices rule high just now,I own--but I'm shy when it comes to talking wi' my betters."

  "Then put some wine into your body," laughed Malone. "It's a fineremedy for shyness."

  "And thank ye, sir," said the rogue, with a quiet, respectful wink."I'm aye seeking a cure for my prime malady."

  "Well?" asked Newcastle, after the cup was emptied.

  "It tingles right down to a body's toes, my lord--a very warming liquor.As for what I came to say, 'tis just this. I'm for the King myself. Inever could bide these Parliament men, though I sell victuals to 'em. Icome to tell ye that there's no siege of York at all."

  He told them, in slow, unhurried speech, how news had come that Rupertlay at Knaresborough, how the Parliament men had gone out to meet him onthe road to York, glad of the chance of action, and trusting by weightof numbers to bear down the man who had glamoured England with theprowess of his cavalry.

  Confusion followed the sutler's news. Some--Newcastle himself amongthem--were eager to send out what men they could along the Knaresboroughroad to aid Rupert. Others insisted that the cavalry, men and horses,were so ill-conditioned after long captivity that they could not takethe road to any useful purpose. A sharp sortie, packed with excitement,was a different matter, they said, from a forced march along thehighway.

  When the hubbub was at its loudest, another messenger came in. ThePrince sent his compliments to Lord Newcastle, and had taken his routeby way of Boroughbridge, "lest the enemy should spoil a well-consideredplan," that Goring was with him, that they might look for him betweenthe dusk and the daylight. The messenger added that the Prince had hisgood dog Boye with him, and he knew that the hound carried luck even infuller measure than his master.

  "Ah, the clever head of the man!" said Malone. "I never owned thatquality myself. He'll be meaning to cross Swale by way of ThorntonBrigg, and all as simple as a game of hide-and-seek."

  It was not quite so simple. An hour later word came that Rupert hadencountered a strong force of Parliament men at the Brigg. They wereguarding a bridge of boats that stretched across the Swale; but Ruperthad scattered them, and still pressed forward.

  Throughout York the contagion spread--the contagion of a fierce unrest,a wild thanksgiving, a doubt lest it were all a dream, too good to takereal shape and substance. For this they had longed, for this they hadsuffered hunger and disease--hoping always that Rupert of the Rhinewould come on a magic horse, like some knight of old, to their relief.And he was near.

  The watch-towers were crowded with men looking eagerly out into thegloaming; but a grey mist shrouded all the plain beyond the walls.Women were sobbing in the streets, and, when asked their reason by somegruff passer-by, explained that they must cry, because joy hurt them so.

  And then, after long waiting, there came a shouting from the mistoutside, a roar of horsemen and of footmen. And they knew the gooddream had come true at last.

  There is a grace that comes of hero-worship:--grace of the keen youngbuds that burst in spring. It knows no counterfeit.

  Rupert was here. Privation was forgotten. Wounds became so many lovers'tokens, and the world went very well with York.

  "As God sees me, gentlemen," said Lord Newcastle to those about him, "Itake no shame to bend my knees and thank Him for this gallant business."

  A message came from Rupert. He would camp outside the walls that night,and would be glad if my Lord Newcastle and his friends would come to himon the morrow. "We shall breakfast--if any is to be had--a littlelate," the message ended. "My men have had a forced march."

  "Ay, always his men and their needs," laughed Malone, the Irishman."What a gift he has for leadership."

  When the morrow came, Michael and Kit were astonished that LordNewcastle bade them join the few officers he took with him to meet thePrince outside the walls.

  "It was you who brought him to us, gentlemen," he explained, with acheery nod. "We hold you in peculiar honour."

  The meeting itself was unlike Kit's hot-headed pictures of it, framedbeforehand. Prince Rupert, straight-shouldered and smiling, wasobviously dead weary. His body was that of a usual man, but his headand heart had been big enough to guide some thousands of soldiers whotrusted him from Oxford to the plain of York; and none goes through thatsort of occupation without paying the due toll. His eyes were steadyunder the high, wide brows; but the underlids were creased and swollen,and about his mouth the tired lines crossed and inter-crossed likespider's webs. Only Boye, the hound, that had gathered superstitionthick about his name, was true to Kit's dream of the meeting; and Boye,remembering a friend met at Oxford, came and leaped up to lick his hand.

  "Homage to gallantry, Lord Newcastle," said Rupert, lifting his hat."The defence of York goes beyond all praise."

  "It was well worth while," said Newcastle, and got no further, for hisvoice broke.

  "The day augurs well," went on the other by and by. "I like to fight ingood weather. Wet clothes are so devilish depressing."

  "But the siege is raised, your Highness. All York is finding tatteredflags to grace your welcome in."

  "They are kind, but flags must wait. We propose to harry the retreat."

  "The retreat," said Eythin quietly, "is so ready for civil war amongitself that we should be well advised to leave it to its own devices."

  Michael, with the eye that saw so much, caught a glance of challengethat passed from Eythin to the Prince. And he guessed, in his randomway, that these two were enemies of long standing. He did not wonder,for he had met few men whom he misliked as he did Eythin.

  "Indeed," put in Newcastle, in great perturbation, "we are very rusty.Our men and horses are cramped for want of exercise and food."

  "Ah, the gallop will unstiffen them. My lord, we pursue and givebattle. It is my own considered judgment--and, more, the King's orders,which I carry, are explicit on that point."

  So Newcastle heaved a sigh of relief. The King commanded, and thatdecided the matter. For himself, he was so glad to be free of wakefulnights and anxious days, so willing to hand over the leadership he hadcarried well, that imminent battle was in the nature of recreation.

  Rupert had mapped out his plans with a speed as headlong and unerring ashis cavalry attacks. The rebel army was encamped on the high groundbordering Marston Moor. He would take the route at once, and my LordNewcastle must follow with the utmost expedition. He could wait withhis men, before giving battle, until the garrison of York joined forceswith him. Even united, they would be outnumbered; but they were used toodds. They must this day sweep treason out of the North, once for all,and send good news to the King.

  Rupert carried them with him. He was on fire with victories won, withfaith in victories to come. The one man unmoved was Eythin, who,disappointed in himself and all things, had long since kennelled withthe cynics.

  "The higher one flies, the bigger the drop to ground," he muttered.

  "Ay," said Michael, who was standing close beside him, "but the man whonever dares to fly--he lives and dies an earthworm."

  "I shall cross swords with you for that pleasantry," drawled Eythin.

  "Here and now, then," snapped Michael.

  Rupert, who never forgot the record of friend or enemy, interposed."Gentlemen, I am in command. You m
ay kill each other afterwards, ifMarston Moor does not dispatch the business without further trouble.Mr. Metcalf," he added, "you will ride with me--and your brother. It isas well to keep spark from gunpowder just now, and Lord Eythin has workto do in York."

  When they set out along the dusty road, the brothers mounted on horsesgoing riderless about the late Roundhead camp, Rupert would have themtrot beside him, and chatted pleasantly. They could not understand thequiet deference and honour given them at every turn of theserough-riding days. But Rupert understood. Into the midst of jealousiesat Oxford--petty rivalries of man against man, when the crown andsoldiers' lives were in the losing--had come the Riding Metcalfs, honestand selfless as God's sunlight, brave to fight well and to be modest.

  The day grew insufferably hot. Rupert's promise of good weather provedhim no true prophet. Any farmer could have told him what was meant bythe stifling heat, the steely sky, the little puffs of wind that werehot and cold by turns.

  "A lover's wind," said Rupert lightly, as a fiercer gust met them up therise of Greet Hill. "It blows east and west, twice in the same minute."

  "It blows for a big storm, your Highness," Kit answered, in allsimplicity. "The belly of the hills is crammed with thunder."

  "Let it break, then, if it must. Meanwhile, our clothes are dry. And,talking of lover's weather, Master Christopher, I was entrusted with amessage to you from Knaresborough. I met a lady there, as we passedthrough--a pretty lady, well-gowned and shod in spite of thesedisastrous times--and she asked me if a little six-foot youth of theRiding Metcalfs were still alive."

  "But who should ask for me in Knaresborough?"

  "Were there so many, then? I begin to doubt you, my White Knight."

  It was later, as they neared Marston, that the Prince drew Christopheraside. He seemed to have a queer tenderness for this lad to whom lifeshowed a face of constancy and trust. "I told Miss Bingham you were inrude health; and I break confidence, maybe, when I tell you that hereyes filled with tears. Well, forget her till after this day's work isdone."

  Kit answered nothing, and showed instinctive wisdom. Miss Bingham wasno more than a pleasant ghost who had nursed his weakness, andafterwards had sat beside him on the ferry-steps that dipped to thewaters of Nidd River. His thoughts lately had been all of battle and ofhigh endurance; but now, as he remembered Joan Grant and the way of her,and the primroses that had starred the lanes of his wooing time inYoredale, he knew that he must do well at Marston Moor.

  The dust and swelter of the ride grew burdensome. Boye, the hound, ranbeside his master with lolling tongue.

  "Never look so woebegone," laughed Rupert, leaning from saddle to patthe brute's head. "We're to have a glorious day, Boye, and you the luckof it."

  Kit had first realised at Oxford how deeply Boye was embroiled in thiswar of King and Parliament. To the Royalists he was their talisman, thetouchstone of success. To the enemy he was a thing accursed, the evilspirit harbouring the body of a dog; they had essayed to shoot andpoison him, and found him carrying a charmed life. Their unkempt fancyran so wild as to name him the worst Papist of the Stuart following,because he went often with Rupert to kirk, and showed great reverence ina place holy to his master. Christopher recalled how the Prince hadlaughed once when a friend had told him what the Roundhead gossip was."It's an odd charge to lay against a dog," he had said, "that he's abetter Catholic than they."

  And now, with battle close ahead and the big deed in the making, Ruperthad found leisure to see Boye's hardship and to cheer him forward on thedusty road. He caught Christopher's glance of wonder--as, indeed, hesaw most things in these days of trouble--and smiled with disconcertinghumour.

  "After all, Master Christopher, I've found only three things to love inmy hard life--loyalty to the King, and my brother Maurice, and the goodBoye here. Love goes deep when its bounds are set in such a narrowcompass."

  He said nothing of his fourth love--the high regard he had for theDuchess of Richmond--the love that had so little of clay about it, somuch of the Pole Star's still, upleading glamour. Instead, he bustledforward on the road; and about noon the vanguard of his army founditself on Marston Moor. It was a wild country, clumps of bog and gorseand heather islanding little farmsteads and their green intaken acres.On the slopes above, wide of Tockwith village, they could see the smokeof camp fires and the passing to and fro of many Roundheads, hefty inthe build.

  "They were ever good feeders," said Rupert lightly.

  His whole face was changed. The lines of weariness were gone. Thesurety of battle near at hand was stirring some vivid chord ofhappiness. It was a sane happiness, that sharpened brain and eye. Thecountry was so flat that from the saddle he could see the whole range ofthis battlefield in prospect. He marked the clumps ofintake--bean-fields white with flower, pastures browned by the drought,meadows showing fresh and green after last week's ingathering of thecrop. He saw Wilstrop Wood beyond, and the ditch and ragged fence halfbetween Wilstrop and the hill on which the Parliament men were eating agood dinner for the first time in many months.

  "My right wing takes position this side the ditch," said the Prince atlast, pointing to a gap in the hedge where a rough farm-lane passedthrough it. "Now that is settled, gentlemen, I'm free of care. Mr.Metcalf," he added, turning to Michael, "go find your kinsmen and bidthem join me. It is the only honour I can give them at the moment; andthe King's wish--my own wish--is to show them extreme honour."

  Christopher remained in close attendance on the Prince. The mostsurprising matter, in a nine months' campaign of surprises, was Rupert'spersistent memory for the little things, of grace and courtesy, whenbattle of the starkest kind was waiting only for the arrival of LordNewcastle and the garrison of York.

  "They'll not be here within the hour," said Rupert, "and this is avirgin country, so far as food goes. My men shall dine."