*CHAPTER VI.*
*HOW MICHAEL CAME TO YORK.*
They crossed the moor, and so, through Long Marston, made forward on theYork road till they reached a hamlet three miles from the city. Herethey captured a shepherd, known to the country speech as "an old,ancient man," who was driving a flock of ewes from a neighbouringpasture. They asked him if he knew anything of the to-and-froing of theParliament troops.
"I've seen a moil o' horsemen scummering out to York for three dayspast. But they asked me no questions, and so I asked them none.Reckoned they were riding to a hunt. Gentlefolk must fill up theirtime, one way or another."
"But, man," snapped old Metcalf, "d'ye live so close to York and notknow there's war between King and Parliament?"
"Nay. I've been tending sheep. Have they fallen out, like, King andParliament? Well, let 'em fratch, say I. I'm a simple man myself, withewes to tend."
Squire Metcalf broke into that big laugh of his that seemed to set theworld to rights. "Forward, Mecca lads!" he said. "We've ewes to tendourselves; but, bless you, this shepherd brings a wind from Yoredale tous."
A half-mile further on they met a company of Fairfax's horse, foragingfor meat and drink. There were fifty of them, and the Metcalfs wentthrough them like a sickle cutting through the bearded corn. Ten werekilled, and they let all but one of the retreating forty go. From him,before they freed him, they learned that it was unwise to venturefurther than a mile on the York road, unless they wished to tryconclusions with outposts of the Scots at Micklegate.
"One of us must find a way into York Castle," said the Squire, calling acouncil of war about him.
It was part of the man's downrightness, his faith that Providence waskind to every stark adventure, that he was able to make the forlorn hopeseem a deed already done.
"_I_ claim the venture, sir," said Michael, with his unalterablesmoothness and the air of one who jests. "Kit, here, has had his sharealready."
"Well, well, 'twill keep you out of mischief for a while. Get you fromsaddle, Michael. Steal into York as privily as may be, and ask my LordNewcastle what service six-score Metcalfs can do him in the open. Weshall be waiting for you, here or hereabouts, when you return."
Michael, as he trudged along the road, overtook a tall fellow who walkedbeside a donkey-cart piled high with vegetables. "I'll buy that donkey,friend," he said, "and all your cart holds, and the clothes you stand upin."
"For how much?" asked the countryman, stolidly indifferent to all exceptthe call of money.
Michael took a guinea from his pocket, and watched cupidity brighten inthe rascal's eyes as another coin was added. Then they went aside intoa little wood beside the road, exchanged clothes there, and the bargainwas complete.
"Clothes make a difference," chuckled the countryman. "Here's thee,looking as gaumless a lad as ever brought produce into camp; and here'sme, the gentleman fro' my head to my riding-boots. All I need is tosteal a horse; then I shall be the gentleman quite. I knew the feel o'stirrups once, before I drank away a snug little farm and had to take tothe road."
Something in the man's voice, something in his sturdy height, thedevil-may-care acceptance of life as it was, roused Michael's interest."You sell your wares to the Roundhead army?" he asked sharply.
"Ay, but that doesn't say I hold wi' them. I've my living to earn, andsell in any market."
"Have a care, man. You're for the King, I fancy, apart from trade. Andhow do you know that I'll not take you by the ear and lead you into campfor a traitor to the Commonwealth?"
The rogue looked up and down the road. "There's none to come in betweenus," he laughed. "I care never a stiver on which side you be. I'm forthe King, and always was; and, if you say nay, we can fight it out herewith our fists. We're much of a height and girth."
This was the sort of wayfaring that tickled Michael's humour. "My lad,"he said, between one break of laughter and the next, "it would be a pityfor two King's men to fight. Go back a mile along the road to Ripley,and find a company of rascals as big as you and me. When they ask yourerrand, say 'A Mecca for the King,' then tell them that I've sent youwith the news that all speeds well."
"This is fair dealing?" said the countryman, after a puzzled silence.
"Take it or leave it. We Metcalfs never trust by halves."
The other clapped his hand suddenly into Michael's. "That's a bargain,"he said. "I'd liefer join your company than sell cabbages to thesedurned Cropheads."
The donkey was waiting patiently in the road until they had settledtheir differences. When the new master put a hand on the bridle andurged her forward, the brute lashed out a hind leg and scarred his legfrom knee to heel.
"Ah, there, be gentle!" laughed the rogue who was wearing Michael'sclothes. "My name's Driver--Will Driver, at your service--and I allussaid--said it to gentle and simple, I did--that, though I'm namedDriver, I willun't be druv." He came and patted the brute's face,talked to its elemental obstinacy, praised some qualities that only hecould find to praise. "There, mister! She willun't be druv. Treat herkindly. That's the password. Don't drag her bridle, thinking she'sgoing to gallop for the King. You're no horseman now--just a sutlerbringing his wares to camp."
Michael, out of the harum-scarum years behind, had learned one goodthing at least--the gift to pick up sound advice when he found the raretype of man who was fit to give it.
On the road to York his patience was sorely tried. It was easier to leada squad of cavalry than this crude ass that dragged a cart of gardenproduce. He tried cajolery of Will Driver's kind, but had no gift forit. He tried force. Nothing served, until it occurred to him to turnher, by sheer strength, with her face to Ripley. She turned instantlyabout, with her face to York, and thereafter the going was quick andpleasant.
"Women have taught me something, after all," chuckled Michael, as theywent forward.
When he came into the lines, he found a press of soldiery about him.They were ravenous, and ate raw cabbages from his cart as if they werebeef-steaks.
Michael had not known what hunger meant until he saw the faces of theseRoundheads who were beleaguering York. He went among them with earsopen, heard that they had eaten bare the fat lands round about, until nofood was left. However it was faring with the garrison behind the citywalls, it was certain that the besiegers were thin and mutinous fromlack of food.
When his wares were sold, he went up and down the camp, the simplestcountryman that ever brought a donkey-load to market; heard of thedissensions among the leaders; knew, once for all, that the Puritans,with all their dour talk of heaven waiting for those who denied all joyin life, were much as usual men are--needing food and liquor, andfinding a grim temper when ale and victuals were denied them. Hebrushed shoulders with a thickset, rough-faced officer, who hurried byon some business connected with the siege, and was astonished when helearned that so plain a man was no other than Oliver Cromwell, of whosegenius for warfare and hard blows all Yorkshire had been talking lately.Later in the day, too, he saw Cromwell's Ironsides, and their hefty,rugged air roused a wild impulse in him. If only they would picksix-score of their number, and ride out to battle with the Metcalf clan,what a fight would be in the doing!
He was losing himself in a daydream, when a musket-ball, fired from thecity wall, whizzed so close to his cheek that he put a hand up, thinkinghe had taken a wound. So then he took his cart to the rear of the camp,got the donkey out of harness and picketed it. The soldiery weredigging trenches or taking their ease, some reading Bibles, otherspassing lumbering jests with the women who attend on every camp. Hepassed among them unheeded, and went the round of York, seeking some wayof entry. He saw none, till in the dusk of the April evening he foundhimself on the river-bank near the grey old bridge. With all his randomhandling of life, Michael had this in common with the RidingMetcalfs--he answered always to the high call of trust. He was pledgedto his folk to make an entry somehow into York, and pass on his
message.One way or another he must do it.
As he stood there, the lap-lap and gurgle of the river began to threaditself into his thoughts. There must be some road into York--that wasthe burden of Ouse river's song. And then the thing grew clear. The wayinto York was here beside him. He doffed coat and boots, dived in, andcame up to the top of the roaring current just under the grey bridge.The stream was strong, but so were his arms, thickened by plough-work,field-sports, and many swims in the deep pool of Yore that lay beneathhis home at Nappa. He struck out for the left bank, found it, steppedup the muddy foreshore. When he gained the roadway up above, a sentrycame bustling through the April moonlight and challenged him.
"A Mecca for the King goes here!" laughed Michael, in high good spiritsafter his battle with the river.
"That's not the password," said the other, fingering his pike.
"It's all you'll get, friend. I seek my Lord Newcastle."
The sentry, his wits none too sharp at any time, was bewildered by thishuge man who had come dripping from the river, this man who talked ofthe King and my Lord Newcastle. As he halted, Michael rushed forwardand snatched his pike from him.
"My lord's lodging--where is it?" he asked, with his big, easy-goingair. "Your pike in return for the news. And, by the word of a Mecca,I'll come back and drown you in the river if you lie to me."
The sentry began to surmise that this man was not human, but a ghostrisen from the stream that flowed over many dead. Moreover, it wasdeath to him to-morrow if he were found without his weapon at the changeof sentry. So he directed Michael to the house where Lord Newcastle waslodged, took the pike in his hands again, and spent a chilly vigil bythe river until relief came from his duty for the night.
Michael pressed forward through the streets and byways until he foundthe house he sought. A sentry was on guard here, too. He answered thechallenge by running sharply in, closing with his man, and putting himinto the street. Then he opened the door, and, after he had barred itbehind him, went down a wide passage, and heard voices from a chamber onthe right. He pushed open that door also, and the men who were holdinga council of war within glanced up in sheer astonishment. They saw agiant of a man standing there without boots or coat, Ouse river runningdown him in little runnels that made pools about the bees-waxed floor.
Lord Newcastle was the first to recover. He glanced across at Michaelwith a scholarly, quiet smile. "Your errand?" he asked.
"I carry a message from the Riding Metcalfs to the garrison of York,"answered Michael, forgetting all his disarray.
"A damp sort of message," hazarded Newcastle.
"I had to swim under York bridge to bring it; and, after that, twosentries challenged me. Will you listen, gentlemen, when I tell youthat I'm for the King? Or will you, too, challenge me?"
Truth is a clean sword-blade that always makes a road in front of it.They knew him for a man who had no lies or secrecies about him; andNewcastle, with his quick sympathy, suggested that he should drink abumper to counteract the chill of Ouse river before giving them hismessage.
"By your leave, not till my errand is done," said Michael, with thatrandom laugh of his. "When I get near a bumper, I have a trick offorgetting many things."
They laughed with him, as men always did; and with the same easy air, asif he jested, he told them of the Riding Metcalfs, of their readiness tocarry messages or to serve the garrison in any way in the open countrywide of York. Before his coming there had been high words, dissensions,warring plans of campaign; this talk of six-score men, zealous for theKing, united in their claim to serve beleaguered York in any way thatoffered, brought a breath of fresh air into the council-chamber. It wasNewcastle who first found voice.
"Go find Rupert for us," he said.
"Ay, find Rupert," echoed the others, with a hum of sharp agreement.
"We're shut up here in York," went on Newcastle, "and all the news wehave is hearsay, brought in by messengers as greatly daring as yourself.Some of them say Prince Rupert is with the King at Oxford, some thathe's busy in Lancashire, raising sieges there. We know not where he is,but you must find him."
Michael reached down to touch his sword-belt, but found only the wetbreeches he had borrowed from the sutler. "On the sword I do not carry,gentlemen, I pledge one or other of the Metcalfs to bring Rupert toyou."
A jolly, red-faced neighbour of Lord Newcastle's glanced across atMichael. "Ah, there's the Irish blood in your veins, God bless you!Who but an Irishman could have swum the Ouse and then pledged faith onthe hilt of a sword he left behind him?"
"Bring Rupert to us," insisted Newcastle. "Tell him that the mere newsof his coming would put heart into the garrison--that his presence wouldlight a fire among our famine-stricken folk. I dined on a tough bit ofhorseflesh to-day, and was glad to get it."
"We'll bring Rupert to you," said Michael.
When they pressed him to take a measure of the wine that was moreplentiful, for a week or so to come, than food, Michael glanced down athis disarray. "I would borrow decent raiment before I pledge HisMajesty. Indeed, I did not guess how ashamed I am to be wearing suchrough gear."
They found him a suit, and the Irishman, in a storm of liking for thisman, buckled his own sword on the messenger. "That's the sword you'dhave sworn by, sir, if you hadn't left it behind," he explained, withentire gravity.
Michael lifted his glass to the King's health, and drained it at a gulp.Responsibility always made him thirsty. He drained a second measure;but, when the Irishman was filling a third for him, he checked his hand.
"My thanks, but I must get out of York at once, I shall need a clearhead for the venture."
"Friend, you've done enough for one day," urged Newcastle. "Sleep hereto-night."
"My folk are waiting for me," said Michael, with grim persistence.
When they asked how he proposed to make his way out of a city surroundedon all sides, he said that he would return as he came--by water. Headded, with a return of his old gaiety, that he preferred this time toride river Ouse like a horse, instead of swimming in deep waters.
"There are boats in York?" he said. "I know the way of oars, andthere's a moon to light me."
"You're the man to send in search of Rupert," laughed Newcastle."Undoubtedly we must find a boat for you."
A half-hour later Michael was rowing swiftly up the Ouse. Twice he waschallenged from the banks; once a pistol-ball went singing over hishead. He reached the bridge, was nearly wrecked against a pier--theeddies of the current were troublesome--and came through that peril intothe moonlit beauty of the open country. He was challenged now byRoundhead sentries, and a shot or two went playing dick-duck-drakeacross the water. He rowed on, and suddenly, across the stillness, adonkey brayed.
Michael, left alone with Nature, was yielding to the call ofsuperstition in his blood. He remembered that luck had come with buyingof a sutler's donkey, and would not leave the brute to the tendermercies of the soldiery. He turned his boat for the right bank,grounded her in the sloping bed of sand, and pushed her out again intothe stream--lest the Roundheads found a use for her--and went cheerfullyin the direction of the braying. The whole procedure was like the man.He was right, perhaps, to trust luck always, for he had known no otherguidance from the cradle.
Guided half by the music of her voice, half by recollection of the spotwhere he had picketed her, he found the donkey. Two hundred yards or sobehind he heard the restless clamour of the besieging camp. In frontwas the open country.
In the moonlight Michael and the donkey regarded each other gravely. "Icame back for you, old sinner," he explained.
The brute seemed to understand him, and put a cool snout into his hand.
"I had a thought of riding you," went on Michael, pursuing his heedlessmood, "but consider the stride of my legs. We'll just have to jogforward on our six feet, you and I."
Michael had a sound knowledge of any country he had trodden once, andcame without mishap or loss of route to the clump of wood
land where hispeople waited for him. Old Squire Metcalf, as he went out to meet him,broke into a roar of laughter.
"Here's Michael and one of the company he's wont to keep."
"True, sir," assented Michael. "Look after this friend of mine; she hashad little to eat to-day, and I begin to love her."
For an hour they could not persuade him to tell them what he had learnedin York. All his kinsmen's misunderstanding of him in old days--theirdistrust of the one man among them, except Christopher, who asked morethan the routine of every day--came to a head. He was like the donkeyhe had brought back from York--answerable to discipline, if it came byway of sympathy and quiet persuasion.
The Squire understood this scapegrace son of his better than he thought."There, you'll bear no grudge, lad," he said, with quick compunction. "Ionly jested."
There was a look in Michael's face that none of them had seen there inthe old days. "Was it a jest, sir?"
"A jest. No more."
"Then I'll tell you what I learned at York. The Roundheads have eatenbare the countryside. Their leaders are at variance. Within the citythe garrison is eating horseflesh, and little of that. Lord Newcastlebade me give you the one message. Find Rupert, and bring him here toraise the siege. That is the message."
"Then we've work to do," said the Squire.
"_I_ have work to do," put in Michael peremptorily. "I took the hazard,sir. See you, the business would be noised abroad if six-score of uswent galloping across to Lancashire, or to Oxford, wherever he may be.I pledge myself to find Rupert and to bring him."
"Since when did you find gravity?" asked the Squire testily.
Then Michael laughed, but not as he had done of yore. "Since I found mycomrade and bought her for two guineas, with some market produce throwninto the bargain. Our folk will see to the welfare of this donkey, sir?She's our luck."
An hour later, as he was getting to horse, he saw Christopher comethrough the clump of woodland.
"What did you learn in York, Michael?" he asked.
"What you'd have learned, if you had not been up the hill to see if youcould catch a glimpse of Ripley Castle," said Michael, roughened by asharp gust of jealousy. "Ah, the guess goes home, does it? How does itfare with Mistress Joan?"
"Oh, very well, the last I heard."
"And it fares very well with me. I go to bring Rupert from the West--tobring Rupert. Ah, your face reddens at the thought of it!"
Kit was lost in one of his high day-dreams. All that he had heard ofRupert--the tales hard-fighting men, simple and gentle, told of him--hadbeen woven into a mantle of romance that separated the Prince Palatinefrom those of common clay. And Michael had the venture.
The elder brother fought a private battle of his own. Then something inKit's eager, wistful face--some recollection, maybe, of old days inYoredale--conquered his jealousy. "I should ride the better for Kit'scompany," he said, turning to the Squire. "Give him to me for thejourney."
"As you will," growled Richard. "He'll be out of the worst o' harm, atany rate. Ladies' eyes are pretty enough in times of peace, but theydon't match with war."
Every Metcalf of them all, save Kit himself, laughed slily. They hadforgotten sundry backslidings of their own, in Ripley here and on themany journeys they had taken. And then Michael and his brother rodeout, not knowing which way led to Rupert, but following the setting sunbecause it led them westward.
"Nobody seems to know, even in Ripley, that catches most news, where thePrince is. We'd best make for Lancashire."
Kit was already at his dreams again. "I care not," he said cheerily,"so long as we find him in the end."
"D'ye think he wears a halo, lad?" snapped Michael.
"Not for you to see, perhaps."
"Ah, a neat counter! Not for my blurred eyes, eh? Kit, you've beenreading fairy-lore with Mistress Joan."
So they went forward into the red of the gloaming, and each was busywith the self-same dream--to find Rupert, and to remember Joan Grant.
The White Horses Page 6
