The White Horses

by Halliwell Sutcliffe

  *CHAPTER VII.*

  *A HALT AT KNARESBOROUGH.*

  Nothing happened along the road as Michael and his brother rode forwardon their haphazard errand. All was made up of an EnglishApril--primroses in the hedgerows, bleating of lambs and fussy ewes,wayfaring farmer-folk about their lands.

  They had decided to seek Rupert in Lancashire, and their best roadwestward lay through Knaresborough, and so forward by way of Skipton andthe good town of Colne.

  "The game grows dull," grumbled Michael. "We had primroses and lambs inYoredale till I wearied of them. I thought Blake promised war and blowswhen we rode out to Nappa."

  "The swim into York and the return--they were not enough for you?"

  "I yawned so much in Yoredale," said the other, with his careless laugh."There's much leeway to make up, babe Christopher."

  As they neared Knaresborough, Michael felt his heart beat again. Thesun was free of clouds, and shone full on a town beautiful as a man'sdreams of fairyland. At the foot, Nidd River swirled; and from thestream, tier on tier, the comely houses climbed the steep cliff-face,with trees and gardens softening all its outline. It was a town to liveat ease in and dream high dreams, thought Kit, until the wind of acannon-ball lifted his hat in passing.

  "Ah, we begin to live," said Michael. "Your hat is doffed to the King,God bless him!"

  At the turn of the road they found a sortie from the garrison hemmed inby fifty odd of Fairfax's dour Otley men. So Michael raised a shout of"A Mecca for the King," and Kit bellowed the same cry. The Fairfax menthought an attack in force had come; the sortie party--twenty of them,and all wounded--found new hope, and, when that affair was done, theMetcalfs rode with their new friends through the gateway of the town.

  "I give you great thanks, gentlemen," said young Phil Amory, the leaderof the sortie, as the drawbridge clashed behind them. "But for you,there'd have been no Knaresborough for us again."

  "Oh, we happened to ride this way," laughed Michael. "Life is likethat. And I'm devilish hungry, since you remind me of it."

  "Sir, I did not remind you. We are trying to forget our stomachs."

  "You have tobacco in the town?" asked Michael anxiously. "Good! It'sbetter than a meal. I smoked my last pipeful yesterday."

  "Good at the fight and the pipe," said Amory. "I like you, sir."

  So they came in great content--save for three of the company, whosewounds bade them grumble--to the slope that led them to the Castlegateway, and were met here by a handful of friends who were riding torelieve them. The ladies of the garrison ran down from the battlements,and Kit was dizzied by the adulation shown him by the women. They hadbright eyes, these ladies, and a great longing for hero-worship in andbetween the tiresome hardships of the siege. Michael was at home on theinstant; battle and ladies' favours had always been his hobbies. But Kitdrew apart and remembered Mistress Joan, and a mantle of surprisinggravity was draped about him.

  There was food of a kind in the dining-hall, with its chimney wideenough to roast an ox. Something that was named beef--though thegarrison knew it for cold roast dog--was on the table. There was asteaming bowl of hot-pot, and none inquired what went to strengtheningthe stew of honest peas and lentils. But there was wine left, as atYork, and across the board hale good fellows, and good fellows who werenot hale at all, pledged Christopher and Michael.

  It was a moment of sheer triumph for these two, for no healthy man canresist the praise of soldiers approving tried soldiers in their midst.When the toasting was done, a man in sober garments rose, lifting hisglass with a queer contralto chuckle.

  "To the King, gentlemen, and to all good sorties on His Majesty'sbehalf. For myself, as Vicar of the parish, I have no part in politics.I take no sides in this vexed question of King and Parliament." He letthe ripple of mirth go past him, and maintained his gravity. "As a man,the case is different. As a man, you understand, I drink to HisMajesty, and confusion to all Cropheads!"

  When the toasts were ended, there was much chatter of what was doing inthe outer world. The Metcalfs, coming from the open country, were likea news-sheet to these prisoned loyalists. They had to tell all that wasafoot in the north, so far as they had learned the to-and-froing duringtheir last months of adventure in the saddle, till at last Christopherremembered the errand they were riding on to-day.

  "Gentlemen, it is time we took horse again," he said, with all theMetcalf downrightness. "York is a bigger town than yours, and we've hersafety in our keeping."

  He glanced up, sure that his brother would back the protest. He sawMichael at the far end of the room, preening his feathers under the kindeyes of a lady who palpably admired him. And a little chill took himunawares, as if the season were mid-winter, and some fool had let thewind in through an open door.

  "So two men keep the safety of all York," laughed one of the garrison."There's a fine Biblical sound about it, Vicar."

  "So much to the good, then," said the Vicar quietly. "To my mind, thosedays are here again, and King Charles righting the good fight. Hey, mymasters, you're deaf and blind to the meaning of this trouble." Heturned to Christopher with a touch of deference that came pleasantlyfrom an old man to a young. "How do you hold York's safety?" he asked."What is your errand?"

  "To find Rupert for them."

  "And you're riding, two of you, to search England for him?"

  "That is our errand, sir."

  "Ah, that is faith! I wish good luck to your horses' feet."

  "We need Rupert as much as York needs him," said Phil Amory. "It's afar cry, though; from here to Oxford."

  "To Oxford?" echoed Kit, with sharp dismay. "We thought to find him inLancashire."

  "The last news we had," said the Vicar--"true, it is a month old bynow--was that they kept Rupert in Oxford, making peace between the rivalfactions, attending councils--playing maid-of-all-work there, while theNorth is hungry for his coming. Why, his name alone is meat and drinkto us."

  "So they said in York, sir."

  "Ay, and so they say wherever men have heard his record. Without fear,with a head on his shoulders and a heart in the right place--undoubtedlyyou ride on a fine errand. If I were younger, and if my clothpermitted, I would join you in the venture."

  Christopher, seeing his brother still intent on dalliance, went down theroom and tapped him on the shoulder. "We get to saddle, Michael," hesaid.

  Michael, for his part, was astounded at the lad's air of mastery. Hewas aware, in some vague way, that dalliance of any kind was a fool'sgame, and that the man with a single purpose assumes command by a law ofNature.

  "I dandled you on my knee, li'le Christopher, not long ago," he said,with his easy laugh.

  "My thanks, Michael. I stand higher than your stirrup now, and Yorkneeds us."

  Michael had an easy-going heart and a head that was apt to forgetimportant matters; but he rose now, obedient to the baby of the Metcalfclan. He paused to kiss the lady's hand, to murmur a wish that he mightlive to see again the only eyes worth looking into; and then he was aman of action once again, keen for the ride.

  Miss Bingham rose and swept them a grave curtsey. Then she glanced atChristopher. "If you have a fault, sir--and all paragons have--it is aseriousness that reminds one of the Puritan."

  She had drawn blood. It flamed in his cheeks for a moment, then dieddown. "I'm neither paragon nor Puritan--and no ladies' man," he added,with a touch of downright malice.

  "So much is obvious. You lack practice in the art, but you will learnin time."

  Kit, in some odd way, felt youthful and ashamed. This girl, little olderthan himself, disdained his singleness of purpose, his fervour for thecause. "Oh, I leave that to Michael," he said, clumsily enough.

  She was tired of warfare and the siege, and bore Kit a grudge because hehad interrupted the diverting game of hearts that she and Michael hadbeen playing. "You are riding to find Rupert?" she asked, her voicelike velvet. "He's the Prince to you
--a paragon indeed--no ladies' man.Sir, when you find him, ask how it fares with the Duchess of Richmond,and see if his face changes colour."

  "It is not true," said Kit passionately.

  "How downright and fatiguing boys are! What is not true, sir?"

  "All that you left unsaid."

  Michael clapped him on the shoulder. "Good for you, li'le Kit! Allthat women say is enough to drown us; but what they leave unsaid wouldsink a navy."

  "Go, find your Prince," said Miss Bingham, with the same dangerousgentleness; "but, on your honour, promise to remind him of the Duchess.I should grieve to picture such a gallant without--oh, without the gracewomen lend a man."

  "Michael, we're wasting a good deal of time," said Kit, disliking thisgirl a little more. "There'll be time enough for nonsense when we'vebrought Rupert into York."

  Michael stood irresolute for a moment, divided, as his way was, betweenthe separate calls of heart and head. And into the midst of hisirresolution a guest intruded rudely. There had been a steadycannonading of the town, as reprisal after the sortie, and one among thelumbering iron balls crashed through the wall of the dining-chamber,near the roof, passed forward and brought down a heavy frame--known as a"bread-creel" in the north here--on which oat-cakes were spread out todry. With fuel scarce, they had learned to make kitchen anddining-chamber one. The cannon-ball buried itself in the masonrybeyond. The bread-creel missed Miss Bingham's pretty head by a foot orso. One end of it struck Kit on the shoulder, reopening a new wound;the other tapped Michael on the skull, and put dreams of Rupert out ofmind for many a day.

  The men at the far end of the hall ran forward. They found Michael lyingprone. One cross-piece of the creel was broken, where it hadencountered his tough head, and all about the floor was a drift of thebrittle oat-cake that had been drying overhead a moment since.

  "A queer beginning for their ride," said young Phil Amory.

  Michael opened two devil-may-care eyes between one forgetting and thenext. "Life's like that, my lad. One never knows."

  They carried him to an inner room, and Miss Bingham watched Amory andanother trying to stanch Kit's wound.

  "You're clumsy at the business," she said, putting them aside. Withdeft hands she fastened a tourniquet above the wound, and dressed itafterwards. Then she brought him wine; and, when a tinge of colourreturned to his face, she crossed to the window and stood there,watching the red flare of cannonry that crossed the April sunlight.

  "My thanks, Miss Bingham," said Kit, following her.

  "Oh, none are needed! I am a little proud of my nursing skill, learnedhere in Knaresborough. Believe me, I would have done as much for anytrooper."

  "Still, any trooper would find grace to thank you."

  Her eyes met his. There was blandishment in them, withdrawal, enmity.Men were a game to her. Spoiled and flattered, accustomed to homagethat had never found her heart, she thought men heartless, too, and thegame a fair one.

  "Thanks mean so little. Would you have had me watch you bleed to death?Is there no one in the world who would have missed you?"

  "I do not know," said Kit, with a thought of Yoredale and the light inRipley Castle.

  "Ah, there's another secret out! She has flouted my dear Puritan."

  "I will not have that name! There was never a Metcalf yet but stood forthe King."

  The cannonade outside grew louder, and Miss Bingham looked out again atthe red spurts of flame. "A painter should be here," she said, turningat last. "My six-foot Puritan, what a picture it would make--the blueApril sky, and the little tufts of cloud, fleecy as lambs'-wool, and theoutrageous crimson flaring from the guns! Will they contrive to hit theCastle again, think you? It is time their marksmanship improved."

  "I was thinking of Prince Rupert," he said stubbornly. "If Michaelcannot ride with me, I must go alone."

  Miss Bingham's heart was touched at last. This man, who could scarcestand from loss of blood, disdained her coquetry, and had onepurpose--to find Rupert for the raising of the siege at York. Selfless,reliant in the midst of weakness, he saw the one goal only.

  He bade her farewell, and asked Amory to find his horse for him. "But,sir, it is death to sit a saddle," protested the other. "Yourwound----"

  "It must heal or break again. That is the wound's concern. Mine is tofind Rupert, as I promised."

  Amory glanced quietly at him and wondered at the hardness of the man."How will you get through the besiegers? Their cannon are pretty busy,as you hear."

  "I had forgotten the besiegers. I must leave my horse, then, and find away out on foot."

  He got half-way to the outer gate, his weakness palpable at every step.Then his foot tripped against a cannon-ball that had fallen yesterday.He fell on his right shoulder, and the wound reopened in grim earnest.

  Miss Bingham was the most troubled, maybe, of all the Knaresboroughgarrison during the week that followed. By all past knowledge ofherself Michael should have been her chief concern. He was so gay andlikeable, as he recovered slowly from his head-wound; his tongue was sosmooth, his heart so bendable to the lightest breeze of a woman'sskirts. Yet she found herself constantly at Kit's bedside, fighting theevil temper that had mastered him. He was consumed with rebellionagainst this weakness that kept him abed, and his persistent cry wasthat Rupert needed him, and would know that he had failed. He was stillso young to the world that he believed all England knew what the RidingMetcalfs were doing for their King.

  On the fourth day, to ease his trouble, Miss Bingham lied. She saidthat Michael was hale and well again, and had gone out in search ofRupert. Kit took the news quietly, and she slipped away to see that hisnoon-day meal was ready. When she returned with the tray, she foundChristopher up and dressed. He was fumbling at the buckle of hissword-belt with all a sick man's impatience.

  "What are you doing, sir?" she cried, in frank dismay.

  "Getting ready for the road. Michael is too easy-going to be trustedsingle-handed; and York, I tell you, needs the Prince."

  "It will see him none the sooner if you die by the roadside now, insteadof waiting till you're healed."

  "But Michael--you do not know him. He means so well and dares so much;but the first pretty face that looks out o' window draws him."

  "To be frank, he is in no danger of that kind," said Miss Binghamdemurely. "He lies in the next room and talks to me as Colonel Lovelacemight--deft flattery and homage and what not. I thought all Cavalierswere smooth of tongue, as he is--until I met my Puritan."

  "You said that he had gone to seek Rupert."

  "Oh, I said. What will not women say? Their tongues are wayward."

  "For my part, give me men," said Kit, with blunt challenge.

  The end of that escapade was a high fever, that taxed Miss Bingham'sskill and the patience that was foreign to her. Michael, too, in spiteof all his gaiety, saw death come very close to his bedside. It was notthe blows they had taken here in Knaresborough that had knocked theirstrength to bits. In the months that had passed since the riding outfrom Yoredale, each had taken wounds, time and time again, had tied anysort of bandage round them, and gone forward to the next sharp attack.They were proud of their tough breed, and had taken liberties with astrength that was only human, after all. And now they were laid by in abackwater of life, like riddled battleships in need of overhauling.

  It was when Kit was in that odd half-way land between great weakness andreturning strength that a sudden turmoil came to him. His memory ofJoan Grant grew weak and fugitive. With him day by day was MissBingham, who had forgotten long since how to pick a quarrel. The beautyof an experience new to her spoiled life gave warmth and colour to aface that had once been merely pretty.

  On one of these afternoons--a spurt of rain against the windows, and thesullen roar of guns outside--he lay watching her as she sat by thebedside, busy with a foolish piece of embroidery. She was very near,had nursed him with devotion, had smoothed his pillow many times forhim.

  "Agne
s," he said, "what will you say to me when my strength comes back,and I've brought Rupert into York?"

  So then she knew that battle is not only for the men. She met hertrouble with a courage that surprised her. "I--I should bid my Puritango seek the lady who once flouted him. Oh, boy, you're in a dream!When you wake, remember that I nursed you back to health."

  Two days later Kit was so far recovered that he was allowed to moveabroad; and, while his strength was returning, the Vicar was his closecompanion. Something in Kit's bearing--dour hardihood half concealingsome spiritual fire that burned beneath it--had attracted this parishpriest since the lad's first coming. He showed him the comelyparsonage, with its garden sloping to the wide bosom of the Nidd; talkedof the town's beauty and antiquity--topics dear to him. Then, oneafternoon, near gloaming, he led him up the steep face of the cliff toSt. Robert's cell.

  What is sown in the time between great sickness and recovery--good orill--is apt to abide with a man, like impressions of the earlierchildhood. And Kit, until he died, would not forget this hermitage,carved out of the solid rock that bottomed the whole town ofKnaresborough. Without, facing the world that St. Robert had known, washis coat-of-arms, as if daring gossip to deny his record in the stressof battle. Within was a narrow chamber, roofed and floored by rock; atone end an altar, at the side a bed of stone--that, and the waterdripping from the walls, and a strange sense of peace and holiness, asif a spirit brooded round about the place.

  "Here is peace, sir," said Kit, a quick fire glowing in his eyes.

  "Ah, yes. You would feel it, I was sure. I bring few guests to thissanctuary."

  Kit glanced at him. The kindly smile, the trust and friendship of theparson's voice, brought back Yoredale and a flood of memories. Whenthey went out into the dusk again, a red flare spurted from the Castlebattlements, and in return there came the din of Roundhead cannon, andKit's face hardened suddenly.

  "True," said the Vicar, touching his arm. "Such as you must go throughblare and gunshot before they tame their bodies. Good luck to you, lad,and strike shrewdly for the King."

  The next day Kit was so far recovered that he would not stay under thesame roof with Miss Bingham; Memories of Joan, who was far away, warredwith his liking for this maid, who came less often to cajole and teasehim back to health. It was easier to go out and rough it in the honestopen. He was haunted, moreover, by the mystery and calm of that stonecell, where a dead man had left his living presence.

  Michael had been fit for the road three days before, but would not leavehis brother, since he had promised him the venture. And, moreover, MissBingham was kind again, after a season of indifference and neglect.

  The old question was revived--by what means they should get through thebesieging force. "There is only one way, obviously," said Michael, withhis rollicking laugh. "We must go horsed. Will not Phil Amory lead asortie?"

  "Phil Amory will," agreed the youngster cheerily. "These rogues havebeen pelting us long enough with cannon-balls."

  The Governor assented willingly. Hazard in the open was healthy forthese high-mettled lads, who were pining under the inaction of thesiege. "You shall go as you came, gentlemen," he said, with his gravesmile. "One good turn deserves another."

  They waited till one of the sentries on the battlements sent word thatthe besiegers were at their mid-day meal. He added that words hadpassed between himself and three of their men, who had shouted thatpluck was dead in Knaresborough.

  "Ah!" said Phil Amory.

  They mounted--forty of the garrison and the two Metcalfs--and the gateopened for them. It was Kit--a free man again, with the enemy close infront--who lifted the first battle-cry.

  "A Mecca for the King!" he roared, and his horse went light under him,as if it trod on air.

  The besiegers ran hurriedly to their horses. Some mounted, others hadno time. Into the thick of them crashed the sortie, and the work wasswift and headlong in the doing. Through the steam and odours of theinterrupted meal the attack crashed forward, till the sortie party,breathless, with a queer glee fluting at their hearts, found themselvesat the far side of the town.

  "You made a lane for us once," said Phil Amory. "Now we've made a lanefor you. There's no time for farewells, friends--put spurs to yourhorses and gallop."

  He gave Michael no time for the protest ready to his lips, but turnedabout, and, with a bugle-cry of "Knaresborough for the King!" dashedthrough the enemy again. The Metcalfs waited till they saw the gateclose on the forty who had hacked a way to liberty for them, and Michaelhalf hoped they would be needed, because Miss Bingham was sheltered bythe Castle walls.

  "We have the road to Rupert, now," said Kit.

  "So we have, lad."

  "Then why look back at Knaresborough? You're in a dream, Michael."

  "The prettiest eyes in England set me dreaming. I've good excuse."

  So Kit, a little sore on his own account, and with a heartache hiddensomewhere, grew serious as only the very young can do. "There is Rupertwaiting for us," he snapped.

  "Ah, true, grave brother. Let's get to Oxford, and the Duchess ofRichmond will cure me of this folly, maybe. There, lad, not so fiery!It's no crime that a duchess should have pleasant eyes. Even princesmust warm themselves at the hearth just now and then."

  "What route to take?" asked Kit by and by, coming down from his pedestalof high, romantic gravity.

  "We'll go by the sun so far as the winding roads will let us. Oxfordlies south-west. Chance and the sun, between them, shall decide; but wehad best keep free of towns and garrisons."

  "Undoubtedly," growled Christopher. "There would be the finest eyes inEngland glancing at you through the lattices."

  In this odd way the brothers, different in experience and outlook, butbound together by some deep tie of affection, took up the hazard of aride that was to end, they hoped, at Oxford. There was a fine, heedlesssimplicity about it all, a trust in open country and the sun's guidance,that was bred in the Metcalf men.