"There'll be such a harvest year, I trust," laughed Blake, "as will bring more like you to the King. I would that every dale of the north gave us a company like yours—men and horses riding as if they'd been reared together from the cradle. I tell you sir, Prince Rupert would enrol3 you all at sight, if there were not more urgent need for you at Skipton."
"As a plain man to a plain man, what does the King ask of us?" asked the Squire of Nappa. "Mr. Lambert, you say, is laying siege to Skipton. He should know better. I knew him as a lad, when he lived out yonder at Calton-in-Craven, and he had naught4 in common with these thick-headed rogues6 who are out against the King. He's of the gentry7, and always will be."
"He has lost his way in the dark, then," said the other drily. "He's training his cannon8 on Skipton Castle as if he liked the enterprise."
"So you want us to ride through Lambert's men and into the castle to help garrison9 it?" asked Squire Metcalf, with his big simplicity10, his assurance that the men he led would charge through any weight of odds11.
"Heaven save us, no! The governor has enough men to feed already, men of usual size; your little company would eat up his larder12 in a week."
"We have fairish appetites," the Squire admitted. "Big sacks need a lot of filling, as the saying goes. Still, you said the King wanted us, and we've left a fine harvest to rot where it stands."
The messenger captured a happiness he had not known for many days. There were no shams13 about this Squire. In all sincerity14 he believed that King Charles had personal and urgent need of him; he asked simply what it was the King commanded. It was so remote, this honesty, from the intrigues15 of those who fought for places in the Court, and named it loyalty16, that the messenger was daunted17 for a moment.
"You are a big company, sir," he said, turning briskly round in saddle; "but you seem oddly undivided in loyalty to the King and one another. Strike one Metcalf, or do him a kindness, and six-score men will repay in kind. You have the gipsy creed18, my friends."
"Ay, we're close and trusty. It seems you know the way of us Nappa folk, though I never set eyes on you till yesterday."
"It is my business to know men. The King's riders must make no mistakes these days, Squire." He glanced back along the chattering19 group of horse, with quick pride in the recruits he had won from Yoredale. "You're all well horsed, well armed."
"Why, yes. We heard trouble was brewing20 up 'twixt King and Parliament, and we got our arms in order. What else? Folk sharpen sickles21 when the corn is ripening23."
Squire Metcalf smiled, a big, capacious smile. "They've felt the weight o' my hand lang syne25, and know it. My father before me trained me that way—as you train a dog, no more, no less."
He drew rein26 and whistled sharply. The horsemen, fifty yards behind, pressed forward, and the heir of Nappa galloped27 at their head, drew rein, saluted29 his father with sharp precision, and waited for commands.
"Oh, naught at all, Christopher," said the Squire. "This guest of ours doubted whether I could whistle my lads to heel, and now he knows I can."
The messenger said nothing. The quiet, hard-bitten humour of these northerners appealed to him; and Mallory, the governor of Skipton, had been right when he sent him out to Nappa, sure that the Metcalf clan30 would be worth many times their actual number to the Royalists in Yorkshire.
They came to the rise of the road where Bishopdale, with its hedges of fast-ripening hazel nuts, strode up into the harsher lands that overlooked Wharfedale. They rode down the crumbly steep of road, past Cray hamlet, set high above its racing31 stream; and at Buckden, half a league lower down, they encountered a hunting-party come out to slay32 the deer. They were too busy to join either party, King's or Parliament's, and offered a cheery bidding to the Metcalf men to join them in the chase.
"We're after bigger deer," laughed the Squire of Nappa. "Who rides for the King?"
Hats were lifted, and a great cheer went up. "All of us," said a grey, weather-beaten horseman.
"Ay, it seems like it," growled33 the Squire. "Much good you're doing Skipton-in-Craven by hunting deer instead of Roundheads."
"Skipton can stand a twelve months' siege. She can whistle when she needs us, like any other likely lass. There's no need to lose a hunting-day till Sir John Mallory needs us."
The Squire found his first disillusionment along this road of glamour34. He had thought that a company of picked horsemen, armed for the King and riding with a single purpose, would have swept these huntsmen into line. Some few of them, indeed, had ridden forward a little, as if they liked his message; but the grey-headed horseman, who distrusted all enthusiasm because long since he had lost his faith in life, brought them sharply back.
"It will be all over in a week or two, and the crop-heads back in their kennels35. No need to lose a hunting day, my lads."
The white horses, carrying big men, trotted36 forward, through Starboton and Kettlewell, where the Danes had raided, wooed, and settled long before a Stuart came to reign37 over gentler times. It was not till they reached Linton, quiet and grey about its clear, trout-haunted stream, that the Squire of Nappa broke silence.
"I told those hunting gentry that the King needed them, and they wouldn't hearken. It seems Royalists are deaf these days to the plain road of honesty."
"They are," said the messenger, with the surprising calm that he had learned from lonely errands, ridden oftener by night than daytime. "So are most men and most women. My heart's singing by that token. I'm bringing in six-score Metcalfs to the King, all as honest as God's sunlight. My luck is in, Squire."
The Squire would have none of blandishment. He could ride a good horse or a grievance38 hard. "They doffed39 their hats when I named the King," he growled.
"They did, but not their heart-coverings. If they'd been keen to ride—why, they'd have ridden, and no child's game of deer slaying40 would have stopped them. Skipton is better off without such laggard41 arms to help her."
"But the King needs them," said Metcalf stubbornly, "and we showed them the plain road."
They rode on through Cracoe, where the trees were red-gold in their pride of autumn, and again the Squire of Nappa broke the silence. "What does the King ask of us? If it is not to garrison the town——"
"It is a pleasanter occupation. The Governor would change places with you willingly, Squire. He told me so when mapping out the work for you men of Nappa. You're well horsed and drilled. You are too strong to be attacked except in force, and they can spare few men from the assault. Your business is to patrol the open country, to intercept42 and harry43 Lambert's reinforcements—to come like the wind out of nowhere, and vanish as suddenly, till the Roundheads learn that Skipton is attacking and besieged44, both at the same time."
"There's one big load off my mind," said Metcalf soberly. "We shall have the sky over our heads and room for a gallop28. I was in mortal fear of being shut up in Skipton Castle, I own, day in, day out, and never a wind from the pastures. We were not bred for indoors, we Nappa folk, and I doubt a month of it would have killed us outright45."
The Squire did not understand the fine breadth of strategy that underlay46 this plan mapped out for him. But the messenger was well aware of it, for Sir John Mallory had a soldier's instinct for the detail of campaign, and he had explained this venture yesterday with what had seemed a mixture of sagacity and sheer, unpractical romance. Since spending the night at Nappa, and journeying with the Metcalfs for half a day, Blake realised the Governor's sagacity more fully47. As for romance—that, too, was vivid enough, but entirely48 practical. Six-score men on big white horses were enough to feed the most exacting49 poet's fancy; they were sufficient, too, to disturb the thick-headed, workaday routine of Lambert's soldiery.
They came to Rylstone, fair and modest as a maid, who hides from men's intrusions. Rylstone, the village beyond praise, bordered by grey houses and the call of ancient peace—Rylstone, that dalesmen dream of when their strength has left them for a while and their hearts are tender.
"She's bonnie," said the Squire of Nappa, checking his horse from old instinct.
"Yes, she's bonnie," Blake agreed. "Rylstone bred me, and a man should know the debt he owes his mother."
Then it was forward up the hill again. Blake was thinking of life's surprises—was picturing the long impatience50 of his manhood, because he stood only five-foot-six to his height in a country that reared tall men. Since then he had learned to pit strength of soul against body height, and now he was bringing in the finest troop of cavalry51 that ever rode the dales. He was content.
As they drew near to the house known as None-go-by, Blake was full of the enterprise planned out for these jolly Metcalf men. He did not propose to take them into Skipton, but left-handed into the bridle-track that led to Embsay. There was news that a company of Fairfax's men was coming round that way from Otley, to help the Roundhead siege; and he would have fought a battle worth the while—for a small man, not too strong of body—if he ambushed52 the dour53 rogues with his cavalry brought out from Nappa.
Yet his well-laid plan was interrupted. All the quiet ways of the countryside had been thrown into surprising muddle54 and disorder55 by this civil war that had come to range friends of yesterday on opposite sides of the quarrel.
It should have been market-day, and the road full of sheep and cattle, sleepy drovers, yeomen trotting56 on sleek57 horses. Instead, there was silence, and the Nappa folk had all the highway to themselves until they neared the rutty track that joined their own from Thorlby and the Gargrave country.
A stream of horsemen was pouring down this track—Parliament men riding from the west to help Lambert with the siege. They rode slowly, and the Nappa men, as they drew rein and looked down the hill, counted two hundred of them. Then came three lumbering58 waggons59, each with a cannon lashed60 to it by hay-ropes plaited fourfold, and each drawn61 by a team of plough-horses that roused Squire Metcalf's envy. Behind the waggons, more horsemen rode at a foot-pace, till it seemed the stream would never end.
"Mr. Lambert is needing more artillery62, it seems," said Blake drily. "His anxiety must be great, if three cannon need such a heavy escort."
The Squire of Nappa did not hear him. For a moment he sat quietly in saddle, his face the mirror of many crowded thoughts. Then suddenly he raised a shout—one that was to sound often through the Yorkshire uplands, like the cock grouse's note.
"A Mecca for the King!" he roared, lifting the pike that was as light as a hazel wand to his great strength of arm.
Blake was at his right hand as they charged. He had only his sword, but the speed and fury of the battle made him forget that not long since he had longed for the strength to wield63 a pike instead, as all the men of Nappa did.
It was all confusion, speed of white horses galloping64 down-hill to the shock, thud of the onset65. The Roundhead guard had faced about to meet this swirling66, quick assault. They saw a company of giants, carrying pikes as long as their own bodies, and they met them with the stolid67 Roundhead obstinacy68. It was a grim fight, and ever across it rang the Squire of Nappa's lusty voice.
Between the two companies of Roundhead horsemen were the three farm-waggons carrying the guns. Those on the Skipton side were trying to ride uphill to help their comrades; but the din2 of combat had sent the plough-horses wild. They were big and wilful69 brutes70, and their screams rose high above the babel of men fighting for their lives. Then they bolted, swerved71 across the road, and brought themselves and all they carried into the ditches on either side. The cannon, as they fell, ripped the waggons into splintered wreckage72.
Between the fallen horses, through the litter of broken waggons, the men of Nappa drove what had been the rearguard of the convoy73. They picked their way through the fifty yards of broken ground, lifted their white horses to the next attack, and charged the second company of Roundheads. Those of the shattered rearguard who could not draw aside were driven down pell-mell into their upcoming friends, bringing confusion with them. And through it all there rang the Squire's voice, with its keen, insistent74 cry of "A Mecca for the King!" In that hour the Parliament men learned that the Stuart, too, had downright servants at command, who were not made up of dalliance and lovelocks.
The men of Nappa would not be denied. They asked no quarter and gave none; and they drove the Roundheads—who contested every step with stubborn pluck—down the hill and up the gentle rise past Skipton Church, and into the broad High Street that was the comeliest75 in Yorkshire. The Castle, with its motto of "Désormais" carved in stone against the blue autumn sky, looked down on this sudden uproar76 in the street; men's faces showed above the battlements, eager with question and surprise.
The tumult77 reached Lambert's ears, too, as he stood beside the cannon on Cock Hill. Knowing that reinforcements were coming over the Lancashire border, he thought the garrison had made a sortie; and he gave a sharp command to fire on the Castle as fast as they could load their clumsy cannon, to bring the sortie party back to the defence. The Roundhead luck was out altogether, for the first cannon-ball flew high above the carved motto of "Désormais," and the second, falling short, killed three of the horsemen who were retreating, step by step, before the Nappa men.
Sir John Mallory, the governor, was one of the men who looked down from the battlements. He had a zealous78 heart, and his thirty years of life had taught him that it was good to live or die for the King. Below he saw a swarm79 of giants striding white horses; saw the little messenger he had sent to Nappa fighting as merrily as any Metcalf of them all; saw the Roundheads retreating stubbornly. As he watched, a cannon-ball whistled by, a foot or two above his head, and ruffled80 his hair in passing as a sharp wind might do.
"My thanks, Lambert," he said impassively. "One needs a breeze after long confinement81."
Then he went down the slippery stair; and a little later the drawbridge rattled82 down, and he rode out with twenty others who were sick from lack of exercise.
It was a stubborn business. The Roundheads left behind with the overturned guns, up the Rylstone road, recaptured the courage that no man doubted, and came driving in at the rear of this pitched battle. Lambert himself, the increasing tumult coming up to him through the still, autumn air, got thirty of the besiegers together. They had ridden in at dawn, and their horses were picketed83 close at hand. As they galloped up the High Street, they were met by the weight of their own retreating friends from Lancashire; and it was now that Lambert showed the leadership, the power of glamouring his men, which none among the Roundheads had since Hampden died.
"Friends," he said,—the Quaker instinct in him suggesting that odd form of address when battle was in progress—"friends, I trust you."
Just that. He had found the one word that is magical to strong men. They answered him with a rousing shout, and drove up against the King's men. For a moment even the Nappa riders gave back; but the recoil84 seemed only to help them to a fiercer onset. They had both Cavalier speed and Roundhead weight, these Metcalf men and horses; and Sir John Mallory, fighting beside them for mastery of the High Street, was aware that Yoredale had given the King a finer troop of horse than even Rupert could command.
Across the thick of it Mallory caught Lambert's glance, and an odd smile played about their lips. The same thought came to both between the hurry of the fight. Not long ago they had dined together, had talked of the winter's hunting soon to come, had smoked their pipes in amity85. Now each was thanking God that the shifting issues of the battle did not bring them sword to sword; for civil war is always a disastrous86 and a muddling87 enterprise.
The glance, and the memories that went to its making, were over in a second. It was a forward plunge88 again of King's men meeting Roundheads, hard to drive. And suddenly there rose a cry keen as winter in the uplands and strong as sun at midsummer.
"Now, Metcalfs," roared the Squire of Nappa, "into the standing89 corn—and God for the King, say I!"
Into the standing corn they went, and it was open flight now down the length of Skipton Street. Time after time Lambert strove to rally his men, using oaths that had not been taught him by the Quakers, but the retreat swept him down, carrying him with it. A great gentleman, whichever side he took in this fierce quarrel, was learning for the first time the sickness of defeat.
The Nappa men were only turned from pursuing the enemy into the teeth of the guns on Cock Hill by Mallory, who rode forward sharply, reined90 about and fronted them.
"Gentlemen of Yoredale," he said, quiet and persuasive91, "the King does not command you to be blown to bits up yonder. He has other need of you."
"Ay, but there's a biggish field in front of you. You'll need to sleep between-whiles, Squire."
When they turned to ride up the High Street again, the Squire, among all this muddle of wounded Metcalfs, and horses that were white and crimson92 now, saw only a little man slipping from the saddle of a little mare93. He rode up in time to ease his fall, and afterwards felt the man's wounds gently, as a woman might. And the tears were in his eyes.
"It's Blake, the messenger, and God knows I'm sorry. He fought like the biggest rogue5 that ever was breeked at Nappa."
"His soul's too big for his strength," said Mallory, with his unalterable common sense. "He'll just have to lie by for a while."
"There's naught much amiss, save loss o' blood, may be. We'll get him to the Castle gate, and then—why we'll just ride up the Raikes and spike94 those cannon lying in the ditch."
"You're thorough, you men of Nappa," said Mallory, with a sudden laugh.
"Men have to be, these days," the Squire answered soberly. "If a body rides for the King—well, he rides for the King, and no two ways about it."
Kit95 drew apart from the turmoil96, and searched for the kerchief Joan Grant had dropped in front of his horse, away in Yoredale yonder. It was white no longer, but reddened by a wound that he had taken. And quietly, in the stillness that comes after battle, he knew that he was to follow a long road and a hard road till he was home again. It was better—in his heart he knew it—than dallying97 at country stiles, sick with calf-love for a maid too high above him.
"You look happy, lad," said the Squire, as he drew rein beside him.
"I'm climbing a tree, sir, a big tree. There's somebody's heart at the top of it."
"Ay, Miss Joan's," growled Squire Metcalf. "Well, go on climbing, lad. You might have chosen worse."
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1
squire
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| n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
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din
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| n.喧闹声，嘈杂声 | |
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enrol
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| v.（使）注册入学，（使）入学，（使）入会 | |
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naught
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| n.无，零 [=nought] | |
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rogue
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| n.流氓；v.游手好闲 | |
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rogues
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| n.流氓( rogue的名词复数 )；无赖；调皮捣蛋的人；离群的野兽 | |
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gentry
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| n.绅士阶级，上层阶级 | |
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cannon
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| n.大炮，火炮；飞机上的机关炮 | |
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garrison
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| n.卫戍部队；驻地，卫戍区；vt.派(兵)驻防 | |
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simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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odds
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| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
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larder
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| n.食物贮藏室，食品橱 | |
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shams
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| 假象( sham的名词复数 )； 假货； 虚假的行为（或感情、言语等）； 假装…的人 | |
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sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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intrigues
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| n.密谋策划( intrigue的名词复数 )；神秘气氛；引人入胜的复杂情节v.搞阴谋诡计( intrigue的第三人称单数 )；激起…的好奇心 | |
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loyalty
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| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
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daunted
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| 使（某人）气馁，威吓( daunt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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creed
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| n.信条；信念，纲领 | |
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chattering
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| n. （机器振动发出的）咔嗒声，(鸟等)鸣，啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的，啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
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brewing
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| n. 酿造, 一次酿造的量 动词brew的现在分词形式 | |
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sickles
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| n.镰刀( sickle的名词复数 ) | |
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sickle
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| n.镰刀 | |
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ripening
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| v.成熟，使熟( ripen的现在分词 )；熟化；熟成 | |
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rascals
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| 流氓( rascal的名词复数 )； 无赖； （开玩笑说法）淘气的人（尤指小孩）； 恶作剧的人 | |
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syne
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| adv.自彼时至此时，曾经 | |
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rein
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| n.疆绳，统治，支配；vt.以僵绳控制，统治 | |
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galloped
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| （使马）飞奔，奔驰( gallop的过去式和过去分词 )； 快速做[说]某事 | |
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gallop
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| v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔；飞速发展 | |
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saluted
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| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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clan
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| n.氏族，部落，宗族，家族，宗派 | |
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racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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slay
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| v.杀死，宰杀，杀戮 | |
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growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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glamour
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| n.魔力，魅力；vt.迷住 | |
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kennels
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| n.主人外出时的小动物寄养处，养狗场；狗窝( kennel的名词复数 )；养狗场 | |
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trotted
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| 小跑，急走( trot的过去分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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reign
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| n.统治时期，统治，支配，盛行；v.占优势 | |
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grievance
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| n.怨愤，气恼，委屈 | |
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doffed
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| v.脱去，（尤指）脱帽( doff的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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slaying
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| 杀戮。 | |
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laggard
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| n.落后者；adj.缓慢的，落后的 | |
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intercept
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| vt.拦截，截住，截击 | |
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harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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besieged
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| 包围，围困，围攻( besiege的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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outright
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| adv.坦率地；彻底地；立即；adj.无疑的；彻底的 | |
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underlay
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| v.位于或存在于（某物）之下( underlie的过去式 )；构成…的基础（或起因），引起n.衬垫物 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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exacting
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| adj.苛求的，要求严格的 | |
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50
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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51
cavalry
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| n.骑兵；轻装甲部队 | |
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52
ambushed
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| v.埋伏( ambush的过去式和过去分词 )；埋伏着 | |
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dour
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| adj.冷酷的，严厉的；（岩石）嶙峋的；顽强不屈 | |
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muddle
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| n.困惑，混浊状态；vt.使混乱，使糊涂，使惊呆；vi.胡乱应付，混乱 | |
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disorder
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| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
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trotting
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| 小跑，急走( trot的现在分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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sleek
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| adj.光滑的，井然有序的；v.使光滑，梳拢 | |
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lumbering
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| n.采伐林木 | |
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59
waggons
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| 四轮的运货马车( waggon的名词复数 )； 铁路货车； 小手推车 | |
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lashed
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| adj.具睫毛的v.鞭打( lash的过去式和过去分词 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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artillery
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| n.(军)火炮，大炮；炮兵(部队) | |
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wield
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| vt.行使，运用，支配；挥，使用(武器等) | |
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galloping
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| adj. 飞驰的, 急性的 动词gallop的现在分词形式 | |
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onset
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| n.进攻，袭击，开始，突然开始 | |
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swirling
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| v.旋转，打旋( swirl的现在分词 ) | |
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stolid
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| adj.无动于衷的，感情麻木的 | |
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obstinacy
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| n.顽固；（病痛等）难治 | |
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wilful
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| adj.任性的，故意的 | |
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brutes
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| 兽( brute的名词复数 )； 畜生； 残酷无情的人； 兽性 | |
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swerved
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| v.（使）改变方向，改变目的( swerve的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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wreckage
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| n.（失事飞机等的）残骸，破坏，毁坏 | |
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convoy
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| vt.护送，护卫，护航；n.护送；护送队 | |
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insistent
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| adj.迫切的，坚持的 | |
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comeliest
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| adj.英俊的，好看的( comely的最高级 ) | |
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uproar
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| n.骚动，喧嚣，鼎沸 | |
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tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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zealous
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| adj.狂热的，热心的 | |
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swarm
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| n.(昆虫)等一大群；vi.成群飞舞；蜂拥而入 | |
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ruffled
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| adj. 有褶饰边的, 起皱的 动词ruffle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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confinement
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| n.幽禁，拘留，监禁；分娩；限制，局限 | |
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rattled
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| 慌乱的，恼火的 | |
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picketed
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| 用尖桩围住（picket的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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84
recoil
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| vi.退却，退缩，畏缩 | |
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85
amity
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| n.友好关系 | |
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disastrous
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| adj.灾难性的，造成灾害的；极坏的，很糟的 | |
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muddling
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| v.弄乱，弄糟( muddle的现在分词 )；使糊涂；对付，混日子 | |
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plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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reined
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| 勒缰绳使（马）停步( rein的过去式和过去分词 )； 驾驭； 严格控制； 加强管理 | |
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persuasive
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| adj.有说服力的，能说得使人相信的 | |
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crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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mare
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| n.母马，母驴 | |
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spike
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| n.长钉，钉鞋；v.以大钉钉牢，使...失效 | |
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kit
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| n.用具包，成套工具；随身携带物 | |
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96
turmoil
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| n.骚乱，混乱，动乱 | |
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97
dallying
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| v.随随便便地对待( dally的现在分词 )；不很认真地考虑；浪费时间；调情 | |
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