"Once into York, my lad," he said, breaking a long silence, "and we shall get our fill of turmoil2. There'll be sorties and pitched battle when Rupert comes."
Kit3 was always practical when he had his brother for companion. "We are not into York as yet. What plan have you, Michael?"
"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 rein5, 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 inflicted6 disastrous7 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 beleaguered8. Their garb9, Michael's peremptory10 demand that the sentry11 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.
"They were passed forward by the sentry, Captain. That is all I know."
"Who are they?" laughed a young lieutenant14. "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 garbed15 themselves so carefully; they were acknowledged as friends of the Parliament cause; he was at a loss to understand the chilliness16 of their reception. "Puritans undoubtedly," he said, with a hint of his old levity17, "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 ushered18 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 intervention19 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, gad20, 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 stewed21 dog, or some such dainty left."
Kit, who did not share his brother's zest22 in this play of intrigue23, had a quick impulse to knock down the general in command, without thought of the consequences. The insolence24 of these folk was fretting25 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. Virtue26, we are told, is in itself reward."
A gruff oath from Leslie told him that he was acting27 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 bide28 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 ridicule29 and a hostility30 scarcely veiled; but there was a strife31 of tongues abroad, and from many scattered32 drifts of talk they learned the meaning of the odd welcome they had found. The Scots, it seemed, had found the rift33 grow wider between themselves and the English who were besieging34 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 dour35 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 comeliness37.
It was astounding38 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 foraging39 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 scanty40 pay was useless for the purchase of food at famine prices.
"We must find a way in," said Michael by and by. "The garrison42 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 standing43 stark44 and upright like a sentry who kept watch and ward12. 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," assented45 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 comely46 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 adversary47. 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."
"Drear? I believe ye. If I'd known what war and siege meant, the King might have bided50 at Whitehall for ever—Star Chamber51 taxes or no— for aught I cared. At first it rained everything, save ale and victuals52; 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 nag53. You're a preacher, by the look o' ye. Well, spend a week i' the trenches54, and see how it fares with preaching. There's no lollipops55 about this cursed siege o' York."
Kit could only marvel56 at his brother's grave rebuke57, 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 deafening58 uproar59 of the weir60.
"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 rusty61 hinges saved the sentry from an untimely end. "You can talk well, Michael, but give me the doing of it," he growled62.
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 ruffling64 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 plentiful65 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 throttled66 where you stand. You run less risk the other way. What is the password for the day?"
"That's a good omen63, 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 dire68 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 skulls69 together and pitch them into Castle Weir."
"They are big, and there are two of them, my lord."
A droll70 Irishman of the company broke into a roar of laughter. The sentry's face was so woebegone, his statement of fact so pithy71, that even Newcastle smiled grimly. "Soften72 the message, then, but bring them in."
To the sentry's astonishment73, the two Puritans came like lambs at his bidding; and after they were safely ushered into the Castle dining-hall, the sentry mutely thanked Providence74 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 haps75 and mishaps76 of warfare77 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 drooping78, his hands crossed in front of him.
"Well," demanded Newcastle, his temper raw and unstable79 through long caring for the welfare of his garrison. "If we are to discuss any business, you may remove your quaint80 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?"
"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 rogue81 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 relish82 for adventure. He filled the brimmer himself, and watched Michael drain half of it at one thirsty, pleasant gulp83. "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, catching84 sight of Christopher, as he stood moving restlessly from foot to foot.
"Oh, just my brother—the dwarf85 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 Knight86 in Oxford87."
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 scattering88 these ragabouts."
"Ah, life's a droll jade89," 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 waning90 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 odds91 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 bruises92.
"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 spine93, as if it were a reed shivering in some upland gale94.
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.
"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, ragged36 figure of a man who seemed to have found a sudden shyness, until Michael burst into a roar of laughter. "Here's a gallant96 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 wink97. "I'm aye seeking a cure for my prime malady98."
"Well?" asked Newcastle, after the cup was emptied.
"It tingles99 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 cavalry101.
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 captivity102 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 hubbub103 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 Goring104 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 contagion105 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 shrouded106 all the plain beyond the walls. Women were sobbing107 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 counterfeit108.
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 peculiar109 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 toll110. His eyes were steady under the high, wide brows; but the underlids were creased111 and swollen112, and about his mouth the tired lines crossed and inter-crossed like spider's webs. Only Boye, the hound, that had gathered superstition113 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.
"Homage114 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 augurs115 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 tattered116 flags to grace your welcome in."
"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 random118 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 cramped119 for want of exercise and food."
"Ah, the gallop120 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 explicit121 on that point."
So Newcastle heaved a sigh of relief. The King commanded, and that decided122 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 imminent123 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 Moor124. 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 gunpowder125 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 trot126 beside him, and chatted pleasantly. They could not understand the quiet deference127 and honour given them at every turn of these rough-riding days. But Rupert understood. Into the midst of jealousies128 at Oxford—petty rivalries129 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 stifling130 heat, the steely sky, the little puffs131 of wind that were hot and cold by turns.
"A lover's wind," said Rupert lightly, as a fiercer gust132 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 simplicity133. "The belly134 of the hills is crammed135 with thunder."
"Let it break, then, if it must. Meanwhile, our clothes are dry. And, talking of lover's weather, Master Christopher, I was entrusted136 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 instinctive137 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 primroses138 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 embroiled139 in this war of King and Parliament. To the Royalists he was their talisman140, 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 reverence141 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 glamour100. Instead, he bustled142 forward on the road; and about noon the vanguard of his army found itself on Marston Moor. It was a wild country, clumps143 of bog144 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 sane145 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 prospect146. 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 kinsmen147 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 persistent148 memory for the little things, of grace and courtesy, when battle of the starkest149 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 virgin150 country, so far as food goes. My men shall dine."
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veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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turmoil
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| n.骚乱，混乱，动乱 | |
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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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mare
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| n.母马，母驴 | |
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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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inflicted
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| 把…强加给，使承受，遭受( inflict的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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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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beleaguered
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| adj.受到围困[围攻]的；包围的v.围攻( beleaguer的过去式和过去分词)；困扰；骚扰 | |
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9
garb
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| n.服装，装束 | |
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10
peremptory
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| adj.紧急的，专横的，断然的 | |
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11
sentry
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| n.哨兵，警卫 | |
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12
ward
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| n.守卫，监护，病房，行政区，由监护人或法院保护的人（尤指儿童）；vt.守护，躲开 | |
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13
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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14
lieutenant
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| n.陆军中尉，海军上尉；代理官员，副职官员 | |
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15
garbed
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| v.（尤指某类人穿的特定）服装，衣服，制服( garb的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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16
chilliness
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| n.寒冷，寒意，严寒 | |
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17
levity
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| n.轻率，轻浮，不稳定，多变 | |
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18
ushered
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| v.引，领，陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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19
intervention
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| n.介入，干涉，干预 | |
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20
gad
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| n.闲逛；v.闲逛 | |
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21
stewed
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| adj.焦虑不安的，烂醉的v.炖( stew的过去式和过去分词 )；煨；思考；担忧 | |
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22
zest
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| n.乐趣；滋味，风味；兴趣 | |
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23
intrigue
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| vt.激起兴趣，迷住；vi.耍阴谋；n.阴谋，密谋 | |
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24
insolence
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| n.傲慢；无礼；厚颜；傲慢的态度 | |
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25
fretting
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| n. 微振磨损 adj. 烦躁的, 焦虑的 | |
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26
virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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27
acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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28
bide
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| v.忍耐；等候；住 | |
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29
ridicule
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| v.讥讽，挖苦；n.嘲弄 | |
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30
hostility
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| n.敌对，敌意；抵制［pl.］交战，战争 | |
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31
strife
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| n.争吵，冲突，倾轧，竞争 | |
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32
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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33
rift
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| n.裂口，隙缝，切口；v.裂开，割开，渗入 | |
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34
besieging
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| 包围，围困，围攻( besiege的现在分词 ) | |
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35
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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36
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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37
comeliness
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| n. 清秀, 美丽, 合宜 | |
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38
astounding
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| adj.使人震惊的vt.使震惊，使大吃一惊astound的现在分词) | |
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39
foraging
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| v.搜寻（食物），尤指动物觅（食）( forage的现在分词 )；（尤指用手）搜寻（东西） | |
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40
scanty
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| adj.缺乏的，仅有的，节省的，狭小的，不够的 | |
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41
cant
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| n.斜穿，黑话，猛扔 | |
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42
garrison
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| n.卫戍部队；驻地，卫戍区；vt.派(兵)驻防 | |
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43
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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44
stark
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| adj.荒凉的；严酷的；完全的；adv.完全地 | |
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45
assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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46
comely
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| adj.漂亮的，合宜的 | |
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47
adversary
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| adj.敌手，对手 | |
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48
dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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49
unctuous
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| adj.油腔滑调的，大胆的 | |
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50
bided
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| v.等待，停留( bide的过去式 )；居住；等待；面临 | |
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51
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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52
victuals
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| n.食物；食品 | |
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53
nag
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| v.(对…)不停地唠叨；n.爱唠叨的人 | |
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54
trenches
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| 深沟，地沟( trench的名词复数 )； 战壕 | |
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55
lollipops
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| n.棒糖，棒棒糖( lollipop的名词复数 )；（用交通指挥牌让车辆暂停以便儿童安全通过马路的）交通纠察 | |
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56
marvel
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| vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异；n.令人惊异的事 | |
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57
rebuke
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| v.指责，非难，斥责 [反]praise | |
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58
deafening
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| adj. 振耳欲聋的, 极喧闹的 动词deafen的现在分词形式 | |
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59
uproar
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| n.骚动，喧嚣，鼎沸 | |
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60
weir
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| n.堰堤，拦河坝 | |
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61
rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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62
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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63
omen
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| n.征兆，预兆；vt.预示 | |
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64
ruffling
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| 弄皱( ruffle的现在分词 )； 弄乱； 激怒； 扰乱 | |
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65
plentiful
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| adj.富裕的，丰富的 | |
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66
throttled
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| v.扼杀( throttle的过去式和过去分词 )；勒死；使窒息；压制 | |
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67
sullenly
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| 不高兴地，绷着脸，忧郁地 | |
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68
dire
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| adj.可怕的，悲惨的，阴惨的，极端的 | |
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69
skulls
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| 颅骨( skull的名词复数 )； 脑袋； 脑子； 脑瓜 | |
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70
droll
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| adj.古怪的，好笑的 | |
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71
pithy
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| adj.(讲话或文章)简练的 | |
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72
soften
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| v.(使)变柔软；(使)变柔和 | |
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73
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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74
providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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75
haps
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| n.粗厚毛披巾；偶然，机会，运气( hap的名词复数 ) | |
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76
mishaps
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| n.轻微的事故，小的意外( mishap的名词复数 ) | |
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77
warfare
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| n.战争(状态)；斗争；冲突 | |
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78
drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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79
unstable
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| adj.不稳定的，易变的 | |
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80
quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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81
rogue
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| n.流氓；v.游手好闲 | |
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82
relish
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| n.滋味，享受，爱好，调味品；vt.加调味料，享受，品味；vi.有滋味 | |
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83
gulp
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| vt.吞咽，大口地吸（气）；vi.哽住；n.吞咽 | |
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84
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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85
dwarf
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| n.矮子，侏儒，矮小的动植物；vt.使…矮小 | |
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86
knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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87
Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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88
scattering
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|
| n.[物]散射；散乱，分散；在媒介质中的散播adj.散乱的；分散在不同范围的；广泛扩散的；（选票）数量分散的v.散射(scatter的ing形式)；散布；驱散 | |
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89
jade
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| n.玉石；碧玉；翡翠 | |
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90
waning
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| adj.（月亮）渐亏的，逐渐减弱或变小的n.月亏v.衰落( wane的现在分词 )；（月）亏；变小；变暗淡 | |
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91
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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92
bruises
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| n.瘀伤，伤痕，擦伤( bruise的名词复数 ) | |
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93
spine
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| n.脊柱，脊椎；(动植物的)刺；书脊 | |
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94
gale
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| n.大风，强风，一阵闹声（尤指笑声等） | |
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95
spacious
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| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
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96
gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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97
wink
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| n.眨眼，使眼色，瞬间；v.眨眼，使眼色，闪烁 | |
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98
malady
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| n.病，疾病(通常做比喻) | |
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99
tingles
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| n.刺痛感( tingle的名词复数 )v.有刺痛感( tingle的第三人称单数 ) | |
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100
glamour
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| n.魔力，魅力；vt.迷住 | |
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101
cavalry
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| n.骑兵；轻装甲部队 | |
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102
captivity
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| n.囚禁；被俘；束缚 | |
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103
hubbub
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| n.嘈杂；骚乱 | |
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104
goring
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| v.（动物）用角撞伤，用牙刺破( gore的现在分词 ) | |
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105
contagion
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| n.(通过接触的疾病)传染；蔓延 | |
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106
shrouded
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| v.隐瞒( shroud的过去式和过去分词 )；保密 | |
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107
sobbing
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| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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108
counterfeit
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| vt.伪造，仿造；adj.伪造的，假冒的 | |
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109
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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110
toll
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| n.过路(桥)费；损失，伤亡人数；v.敲(钟) | |
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111
creased
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| （使…）起折痕，弄皱( crease的过去式和过去分词 )； （皮肤）皱起，使起皱纹； 皱皱巴巴 | |
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112
swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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113
superstition
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| n.迷信，迷信行为 | |
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114
homage
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| n.尊敬，敬意，崇敬 | |
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115
augurs
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| n.（古罗马的）占兆官( augur的名词复数 )；占卜师，预言者v.预示，预兆，预言( augur的第三人称单数 )；成为预兆；占卜 | |
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116
tattered
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| adj.破旧的，衣衫破的 | |
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117
harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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118
random
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| adj.随机的；任意的；n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
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119
cramped
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| a.狭窄的 | |
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120
gallop
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| v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔；飞速发展 | |
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121
explicit
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| adj.详述的，明确的；坦率的；显然的 | |
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122
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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123
imminent
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| adj.即将发生的，临近的，逼近的 | |
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124
moor
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| n.荒野，沼泽；vt.(使)停泊；vi.停泊 | |
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125
gunpowder
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| n.火药 | |
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126
trot
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| n.疾走，慢跑；n.老太婆；现成译本；(复数）trots:腹泻（与the 连用）；v.小跑，快步走，赶紧 | |
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127
deference
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| n.尊重，顺从；敬意 | |
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128
jealousies
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| n.妒忌( jealousy的名词复数 )；妒羡 | |
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129
rivalries
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| n.敌对，竞争，对抗( rivalry的名词复数 ) | |
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130
stifling
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| a.令人窒息的 | |
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131
puffs
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| n.吸( puff的名词复数 )；（烟斗或香烟的）一吸；一缕（烟、蒸汽等）；（呼吸或风的）呼v.使喷出( puff的第三人称单数 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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132
gust
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| n.阵风，突然一阵（雨、烟等），（感情的）迸发 | |
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133
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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134
belly
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| n.肚子，腹部；(像肚子一样)鼓起的部分，膛 | |
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135
crammed
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| adj.塞满的，挤满的；大口地吃；快速贪婪地吃v.把…塞满；填入；临时抱佛脚( cram的过去式) | |
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136
entrusted
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| v.委托，托付( entrust的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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137
instinctive
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| adj.(出于)本能的；直觉的；(出于)天性的 | |
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138
primroses
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| n.报春花( primrose的名词复数 )；淡黄色；追求享乐（招至恶果） | |
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139
embroiled
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| adj.卷入的；纠缠不清的 | |
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140
talisman
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| n.避邪物，护身符 | |
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141
reverence
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| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
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142
bustled
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| 闹哄哄地忙乱，奔忙( bustle的过去式和过去分词 )； 催促 | |
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143
clumps
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| n.（树、灌木、植物等的）丛、簇( clump的名词复数 )；（土、泥等）团；块；笨重的脚步声v.（树、灌木、植物等的）丛、簇( clump的第三人称单数 )；（土、泥等）团；块；笨重的脚步声 | |
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144
bog
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| n.沼泽；室...陷入泥淖 | |
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145
sane
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| adj.心智健全的，神志清醒的，明智的，稳健的 | |
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146
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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147
kinsmen
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| n.家属，亲属( kinsman的名词复数 ) | |
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148
persistent
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| adj.坚持不懈的，执意的；持续的 | |
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149
starkest
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| （指区别）明显的( stark的最高级 )； 完全的； 了无修饰的； 僵硬的 | |
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150
virgin
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| n.处女，未婚女子；adj.未经使用的；未经开发的 | |
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