michael was in high spirits as he rode for york with christopher. he wore puritan raiment, and it was troublesome to keep his steeple-hat safely on his head; but the wine of adventure was in his veins, and clothing mattered little.
"once into york, my lad," he said, breaking a long silence, "and we shall get our fill of turmoil. there'll be sorties and pitched battle when rupert comes."
kit was always practical when he had his brother for companion. "we are not into york as yet. what plan have you, michael?"
"my usual plan—to trust to luck. she's a bonnie mare to ride, i tell you."
"but the papers we took from the three roundheads in the tavern—we had best know what they pledge us to."
"the prince was right, after all. he said that you would steady me. it is odd, kit, but it never entered my daft head to look at the papers; it was enough that they were our passport."
they drew rein, and michael ran his eye down the papers. "they say that rupert is marching fast for the relief of york—that will be no news to them by this time—that the prince has inflicted disastrous reverses on their cause, at bolton and by relieving lathom house, and that, at any cost of life, york must be reduced before his coming. oh, my lad, how all this plays into rupert's hands!"
there was only one weakness in michael's gay assurance that all was speeding 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 the scots beleaguered. their garb, michael's peremptory demand that the sentry should pass them forward to the officer in command, backed up by showing of his papers, had their effect. it was when they found themselves in the presence of five parliament officers, seated at a trestle table ill supplied with food, that they began to doubt the venture.
"who are these?" asked one of the five, regarding the strangers with mingled 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 of them, and preachers, too, by the look of their wearing-gear. it needs no papers to prove that."
michael was always steadied by surprise. they had garbed themselves so carefully; they were acknowledged as friends of the parliament cause; he was at a loss to understand the chilliness of their reception. "puritans undoubtedly," he said, with a hint of his old levity, "but we've never been found guilty of the charge of preaching."
captain fraser glanced through the papers, and his air of rude carelessness changed. "this is of prime importance. by the bruce, sirs, the parliament has chosen odd-looking messengers, but i thank you for the bringing of your news."
within ten minutes the metcalfs were ushered into the presence of a cheery, thick-set man, who proved to be leslie, the general in command of the scots. he, too, read the papers with growing interest.
"h'm, this is good news," he muttered. "at any cost of life. that leaves me free. i've been saying for weeks past that famine and dissensions among ourselves will raise the siege, without any intervention from prince rupert. your name, sir?" he asked, turning sharply to michael.
michael, by some odd twist of memory, recalled banbury and the name of a townsman who had given him much trouble there. "ebenezer drinkwater, at your 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 in camp—there may be devilled rat, or stewed dog, or some such dainty left."
kit, who did not share his brother's zest in this play of intrigue, had a quick impulse to knock down the general in command, without thought of the consequences. the insolence of these folk was fretting his temper into ribbons.
"come, brother," said michael, after a glance at the other's face. "we can only do our work, not needing praise nor asking it. virtue, we are told, is in itself reward."
a gruff oath from leslie told him that he was acting passably well; and they went out, kit and he, with freedom to roam unmolested up and down the lines.
"what is your plan?" asked kit impatiently.
"we must bide till sundown, and that's an hour away. meanwhile, lad, we shall keep open ears and quiet tongues."
they went about the camp, and everywhere met ridicule and a hostility scarcely veiled; but there was a strife of tongues abroad, and from many scattered drifts of talk they learned the meaning of the odd welcome they had found. the scots, it seemed, had found the rift grow wider between themselves and the english who were besieging york's two other gates. the rift had been slight enough when the first joy of siege, the hope of reducing the good city, had fired their hearts. week by week had gone by, month after month; hunger and a fierce drought had eaten bare the countryside, and hardships are apt to eat through the light upper-crust of character.
the metcalfs learned that the dour scots and the dour puritans were at enmity in the matter of religion; and this astonished them, for they did not know how deep was the scottish instinct for discipline and order in their church affairs. they learned, too—and this was voiced more frequently—that they resented the whole affair of making war upon a stuart king. they had been dragged into the business, somehow; but ever at their hearts—hearts laid bare by privation and ill-health—there was the song of the stuarts, bred by scotland to sit on the english throne and to grace it with great comeliness.
it was astounding to the metcalfs, this heart of a whole army bared to the daylight. there had been skirmishes, they heard, between lord fairfax's men and the scots. the quarrel was based ostensibly on some matter of foraging in each other's country; but it was plain that the scots were glad of any excuse which offered—plain that they were more hostile to their allies than to the common enemy. then, too, there was mutiny breeding among the soldiery, because their scanty pay was useless for the purchase of food at famine prices.
"we must find a way in," said michael by and by. "the garrison should know all this at once. they could sortie without waiting for the prince'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 the edge of the scottish lines by now. the clear, red light showed them that odd neck of land bounded by fosse water and the ouse, showed them the castle, with clifford's tower standing stark and upright like a sentry who kept watch and ward. within that neck of land were royalists who waited for the message, as lovers wait at a stile for a lady over-late.
"we must win in," said michael.
"well, brothers," said a gruff voice behind them, "are you as sick to get into york as we are? you're late come to the siege, by the well-fed look of you."
"just as sick," assented michael cheerfully. "by the look of you, you're one of lord fairfax's men at walmgate bar. well, it is pleasant to be among good puritans again, after the cold welcome given us by the scots at micklegate."
so then the trooper talked to them as brother talks to brother. within five minutes they learned all that the english thought of their scottish allies, and what they thought would not look comely if set down on paper.
michael warmed to the humour of it. the man with the heart of a cavalier and the raiment of a puritan hears much that is useful from the adversary. he told of their late errand, the safe delivery of their papers, and the contents. he explained—confidentially, as friend to friend—that he had an errand of strategy, and must get into york before sundown. was there any quiet way of entry?
"well, there's what they call a postern gate nigh handy," said the trooper, with the burr in his speech that any wharfedale man would have known. "d'ye hear the mill-sluice roaring yonder? though it beats me how 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 king might have bided at whitehall for ever—star chamber taxes or no— for aught i cared. at first it rained everything, save ale and victuals; and then, for weeks on end, it droughted. there's no sense in such weather."
"but the cause, friend—the cause. what is hardship compared with the parliament's need?"
"parliament is as parliament does. for my part, i've got three teeth aching, to my knowledge, and other-some beginning to nag. you're a preacher, by the look o' ye. well, spend a week i' the trenches, and see how it fares with preaching. there's no lollipops about this cursed siege o' york."
kit could only marvel at his brother's grave rebuke, at the quietness with which he drew this man into talk—drew him, too, along the bank of fosse water till they stood in the deafening uproar of the weir.
"there's the postern yonder," said the trooper—"fishgate postern, they call it. once you're through on your errand, ye gang over castle mills brigg, and the durned castle stands just beyond."
michael nodded a good-day and a word of thanks, and hammered at the postern 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, and only 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 themselves in the evening glow that lay over st. george's field. for a moment they were bewildered. the roar of the mill-sluice had been in their ears so lately that the quietness within york's walls was a thing oppressive. the sounds of distant uproar came to them, but these were like echoes only, 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 rough handling, asked bluntly what their business was. "it's as much as my skin is worth, all this. small blame to me, say i, if i filled that skin a trifle over-full. liquor is the one thing plentiful in this cursed city. what is your business?"
"simple enough," said michael. "go find my lord newcastle and tell him two puritans are waiting for him. they are tired of laying siege to york, and have news for his private ear."
"a likely tale!"
"likelier than being throttled where you stand. you run less risk the other 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 your boots and tell lord newcastle that we knocked on the gate and gave the counter-sign. tell him we wait his pleasure. we shall shadow you until you do the errand."
the sentry had a gift of seeing the common sense of any situation. he knew that newcastle was in the castle, closeted with his chief officers in deliberation over the dire straits of the city; and he went in search of him.
newcastle listened to his tale of two big puritans—preachers, by the look of them—who had found entry through the postern by knowledge of the password. "so they wait our pleasure, do they?" said newcastle irascibly. "go tell them that when my gentlemen of york go out to meet the puritans, it will be beyond the city gates. tell them that spies and informers must conform to their livery, and come to us, not we to them. if they dispute the point—why, knock their skulls together and pitch 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. the sentry's face was so woebegone, his statement of fact so pithy, that even newcastle smiled grimly. "soften the message, then, but bring them in."
to the sentry's astonishment, the two puritans came like lambs at his bidding; and after they were safely ushered into the castle dining-hall, the sentry mutely thanked providence for his escape, and went in search of further liquor. as a man of common sense, he reasoned that there would be no second call to-night at a postern that had stood un-challenged for these three weeks past.
michael, when he came into the room, cast a quick glance round the company. he saw newcastle and eythin, and a jolly, red-faced irishman, and many others; and memory ran back along the haps and mishaps of warfare in the open to a night when he had swum ouse river and met just this band of gentlemen at table. he pulled his steeple-hat over his eyes and stood there, his shoulders drooping, his hands crossed in front of him.
"well," demanded newcastle, his temper raw and unstable through long caring for the welfare of his garrison. "if we are to discuss any business, you may remove your quaint head-gear, sirs. my equals uncover, so you may do as much."
"puritans do not, my lord," michael interrupted. "what are men that we should uncover to them?"
"men circumstanced as we are have a short way and a ready with cant and steeple-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 we who brought him."
the irishman, thinking him mad or drunk, or both, and irritated beyond bearing by his smooth, oily speech, reached forward and knocked his hat half across the room.
"oh, by the saints!" he roared; "here's the rogue who came in last spring, pretty much in the clothes he was born in, after swimming ouse river—the jolly rogue who swore he'd find rupert for us."
"at your service, gentlemen—as dry as i was wet when we last encountered. will none of you fill me a brimmer?"
lord newcastle, if something raw in experience of warfare and its tactics, was a great-hearted man of his world, with a lively humour and a sportsman's relish for adventure. he filled the brimmer himself, and watched michael drain half of it at one thirsty, pleasant gulp. "now for your news," he said.
"why, my lord, i pledged the metcalf honour that we'd bring rupert to you, and he lies no further off than knaresborough."
"good," laughed the irishman. "i said you could trust a man who swore by the sword he happened not to be carrying at the moment."
"and your friend?" asked newcastle, catching sight of christopher, as he stood moving restlessly from foot to foot.
"oh, just my brother—the dwarf of our company. little, but full of meat, 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 white knight 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's movements, all that he had learned of the famine and dissension outside the city gates.
"the prince bade you all be ready for the sortie when he came," he finished. "for my part, i think we might sortie now and save him the trouble of scattering these ragabouts."
"ah, life's a droll jade," murmured the irishman. "we fancied they were doing fairly well out yonder, while we were cooped up here like chickens in a pen. will you give me the sortie, my lord? the light's waning fast."
"ay, lead them, malone," laughed newcastle. "i shall be glad to give mettled 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 tankard of ale beside him, and a great faith that the odds were all against his being disturbed twice in the same evening, when there came a splutter of running feet outside and a knocking on the door. memory of the earlier guests was still with him, sharpened by the sting of aches and bruises.
"no more gentle puritans for me," he growled. "they can knock as they list; for my part, i'm safer in company with home-brewed ale."
he listened to the knocking. drink and his rough experience of awhile since, between them, brought a coldness to his spine, as if it were a reed shivering in some upland gale.
then warmth returned to him. a voice he knew told him of what had happened outside york, and insisted that its bearer should bring the good news in.
"why, matthew, is it only thee?" asked the sentry, his mouth against the spacious keyhole.
"who else? open, thou durned fool. my news willun't bide."
lord newcastle had scarcely given consent to the sortie, when the sentry came again to the dining-chamber, pushing in front of him a lean, ragged figure of a man who seemed to have found a sudden shyness, until michael burst into a roar of laughter. "here's a gallant rogue! it was by his help i won into york last spring. sutler, i thank you for the donkey purchased from you."
"is she well, sir?" asked the other eagerly. "i aye had a weakness for the skew-tempered jade."
"come, your news?" snapped newcastle.
"it's this way, gentles. i can talk well enough when i'm selling produce 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 fine remedy 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. i never could bide these parliament men, though i sell victuals to 'em. i come to tell ye that there's no siege of york at all."
he told them, in slow, unhurried speech, how news had come that rupert lay at knaresborough, how the parliament men had gone out to meet him on the road to york, glad of the chance of action, and trusting by weight of numbers to bear down the man who had glamoured england with the prowess of his cavalry.
confusion followed the sutler's news. some—newcastle himself among them—were eager to send out what men they could along the knaresborough road to aid rupert. others insisted that the cavalry, men and horses, were so ill-conditioned after long captivity that they could not take the road to any useful purpose. a sharp sortie, packed with excitement, was a different matter, they said, from a forced march along the highway.
when the hubbub was at its loudest, another messenger came in. the prince sent his compliments to lord newcastle, and had taken his route by way of boroughbridge, "lest the enemy should spoil a well-considered plan," that goring was with him, that they might look for him between the dusk and the daylight. the messenger added that the prince had his good dog boye with him, and he knew that the hound carried luck even in fuller measure than his master.
"ah, the clever head of the man!" said malone. "i never owned that quality myself. he'll be meaning to cross swale by way of thornton brigg, and all as simple as a game of hide-and-seek."
it was not quite so simple. an hour later word came that rupert had encountered a strong force of parliament men at the brigg. they were guarding a bridge of boats that stretched across the swale; but rupert had 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 take real shape and substance. for this they had longed, for this they had suffered hunger and disease—hoping always that rupert of the rhine would 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 the gloaming; but a grey mist shrouded all the plain beyond the walls. women were sobbing in the streets, and, when asked their reason by some gruff passer-by, explained that they must cry, because joy hurt them so.
and then, after long waiting, there came a shouting from the mist outside, a roar of horsemen and of footmen. and they knew the good dream had come true at last.
there is a grace that comes of hero-worship:—grace of the keen young buds 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, "i take 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 him on the morrow. "we shall breakfast—if any is to be had—a little late," 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 lord newcastle bade them join the few officers he took with him to meet the prince outside the walls.
"it was you who brought him to us, gentlemen," he explained, with a cheery nod. "we hold you in peculiar honour."
the meeting itself was unlike kit's hot-headed pictures of it, framed beforehand. prince rupert, straight-shouldered and smiling, was obviously dead weary. his body was that of a usual man, but his head and heart had been big enough to guide some thousands of soldiers who trusted him from oxford to the plain of york; and none goes through that sort of occupation without paying the due toll. his eyes were steady under the high, wide brows; but the underlids were creased and swollen, and about his mouth the tired lines crossed and inter-crossed like spider's webs. only boye, the hound, that had gathered superstition thick 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 his voice broke.
"the day augurs well," went on the other by and by. "i like to fight in good weather. wet clothes are so devilish depressing."
"but the siege is raised, your highness. all york is finding tattered flags 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 among itself 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 challenge that passed from eythin to the prince. and he guessed, in his random way, 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 give battle. 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 that decided the matter. for himself, he was so glad to be free of wakeful nights and anxious days, so willing to hand over the leadership he had carried well, that imminent battle was in the nature of recreation.
rupert had mapped out his plans with a speed as headlong and unerring as his cavalry attacks. the rebel army was encamped on the high ground bordering marston moor. he would take the route at once, and my lord newcastle must follow with the utmost expedition. he could wait with his men, before giving battle, until the garrison of york joined forces with him. even united, they would be outnumbered; but they were used to odds. 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, with faith in victories to come. the one man unmoved was eythin, who, disappointed in himself and all things, had long since kennelled with the 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 who never 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 may kill each other afterwards, if marston moor does not dispatch the business without further trouble. mr. metcalf," he added, "you will ride with me—and your brother. it is as well to keep spark from gunpowder just now, and lord eythin has work to do in york."
when they set out along the dusty road, the brothers mounted on horses going riderless about the late roundhead camp, rupert would have them trot beside him, and chatted pleasantly. they could not understand the quiet deference and honour given them at every turn of these rough-riding days. but rupert understood. into the midst of jealousies at oxford—petty rivalries of man against man, when the crown and soldiers' lives were in the losing—had come the riding metcalfs, honest and selfless as god's sunlight, brave to fight well and to be modest.
the day grew insufferably hot. rupert's promise of good weather proved him no true prophet. any farmer could have told him what was meant by the stifling heat, the steely sky, the little puffs of wind that were hot and cold by turns.
"a lover's wind," said rupert lightly, as a fiercer gust met them up the rise of greet hill. "it blows east and west, twice in the same minute."
"it blows for a big storm, your highness," kit answered, in all simplicity. "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 a message to you from knaresborough. i met a lady there, as we passed through—a pretty lady, well-gowned and shod in spite of these disastrous times—and she asked me if a little six-foot youth of the riding 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 christopher aside. he seemed to have a queer tenderness for this lad to whom life showed a face of constancy and trust. "i told miss bingham you were in rude health; and i break confidence, maybe, when i tell you that her eyes filled with tears. well, forget her till after this day's work is done."
kit answered nothing, and showed instinctive wisdom. miss bingham was no more than a pleasant ghost who had nursed his weakness, and afterwards had sat beside him on the ferry-steps that dipped to the waters of nidd river. his thoughts lately had been all of battle and of high 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 in yoredale, he knew that he must do well at marston moor.
the dust and swelter of the ride grew burdensome. boye, the hound, ran beside his master with lolling tongue.
"never look so woebegone," laughed rupert, leaning from saddle to pat the brute's head. "we're to have a glorious day, boye, and you the luck of it."
kit had first realised at oxford how deeply boye was embroiled in this war of king and parliament. to the royalists he was their talisman, the touchstone of success. to the enemy he was a thing accursed, the evil spirit harbouring the body of a dog; they had essayed to shoot and poison him, and found him carrying a charmed life. their unkempt fancy ran 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 in a place holy to his master. christopher recalled how the prince had laughed 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 a better catholic than they."
and now, with battle close ahead and the big deed in the making, rupert had found leisure to see boye's hardship and to cheer him forward on the dusty road. he caught christopher's glance of wonder—as, indeed, he saw most things in these days of trouble—and smiled with disconcerting humour.
"after all, master christopher, i've found only three things to love in my hard life—loyalty to the king, and my brother maurice, and the good boye here. love goes deep when its bounds are set in such a narrow compass."
he said nothing of his fourth love—the high regard he had for the duchess of richmond—the love that had so little of clay about it, so much of the pole star's still, upleading glamour. instead, he bustled forward on the road; and about noon the vanguard of his army found itself on marston moor. it was a wild country, clumps of bog and gorse and heather islanding little farmsteads and their green intaken acres. on the slopes above, wide of tockwith village, they could see the smoke of camp fires and the passing to and fro of many roundheads, hefty in the build.
"they were ever good feeders," said rupert lightly.
his whole face was changed. the lines of weariness were gone. the surety of battle near at hand was stirring some vivid chord of happiness. it was a sane happiness, that sharpened brain and eye. the country was so flat that from the saddle he could see the whole range of this battlefield in prospect. he marked the clumps of intake—bean-fields white with flower, pastures browned by the drought, meadows showing fresh and green after last week's ingathering of the crop. he saw wilstrop wood beyond, and the ditch and ragged fence half between wilstrop and the hill on which the parliament men were eating a good dinner for the first time in many months.
"my right wing takes position this side the ditch," said the prince at last, pointing to a gap in the hedge where a rough farm-lane passed through it. "now that is settled, gentlemen, i'm free of care. mr. metcalf," he added, turning to michael, "go find your kinsmen and bid them join me. it is the only honour i can give them at the moment; and the king's wish—my own wish—is to show them extreme honour."
christopher remained in close attendance on the prince. the most surprising matter, in a nine months' campaign of surprises, was rupert's persistent memory for the little things, of grace and courtesy, when battle of the starkest kind was waiting only for the arrival of lord newcastle and the garrison of york.
"they'll not be here within the hour," said rupert, "and this is a virgin country, so far as food goes. my men shall dine."
