"No more gentle Puritans for me," he growled. "They can knock as they list; for my part, I’m safer in company with home-brewed ale."
He listened to the knocking. Drink and his rough experience of awhile since, between them, brought a coldness to his spine, as if it were a reed shivering in some upland gale.
Then warmth returned to him. A voice he knew told him of what had happened outside York, and insisted that its bearer should bring the good news in.
"Why, Matthew, is it only thee?" asked the sentry, his mouth against the spacious keyhole.
"Who else? Open, thou durned fool. My news willun’t bide."
Lord Newcastle had scarcely given consent to the sortie, when the sentry came again to the dining-chamber, pushing in front of him a lean, ragged figure of a man who seemed to have found a sudden shyness, until Michael burst into a roar of laughter. "Here’s a gallant rogue! It was by his help I won into York last spring. Sutler, I thank you for the donkey purchased from you."
"Is she well, sir?" asked the other eagerly. "I aye had a weakness for the skew-tempered jade."
"It’s this way, gentles. I can talk well enough when I’m selling produce for the best price it will fetch—and prices rule high just now, I own—but I’m shy when it comes to talking wi’ my betters."
"Then put some wine into your body," laughed Malone. "It’s a fine remedy for shyness."
"And thank ye, sir," said the rogue, with a quiet, respectful wink. "I’m aye seeking a cure for my prime malady."
"Well?" asked Newcastle, after the cup was emptied.
"It tingles right down to a body’s toes, my lord—a very warming liquor. As for what I came to say, ’tis just this. I’m for the King myself. I never could bide these Parliament men, though I sell victuals to ’em. I come to tell ye that there’s no siege of York at all."
He told them, in slow, unhurried speech, how news had come that Rupert lay at Knaresborough, how the Parliament men had gone out to meet him on the road to York, glad of the chance of action, and trusting by weight of numbers to bear down the man who had glamoured England with the prowess of his cavalry.
Confusion followed the sutler’s news. Some—Newcastle himself among them—were eager to send out what men they could along the Knaresborough road to aid Rupert. Others insisted that the cavalry, men and horses, were so ill-conditioned after long captivity that they could not take the road to any useful purpose. A sharp sortie, packed with excitement, was a different matter, they said, from a forced march along the highway.