"Are you ready, Metcalfs?" he asked, pleasantly.
With the punctilio that was part of the man, he insisted that the Squire of Nappa should ride beside him at the head of this good company. They thundered over the field, wheeled and galloped back. It was all oddly out of keeping with the pageantry that had gone before. In playing scenes of bygone centuries men gloss over much of the mud and trouble of the times; but here were six-score men who had the stain of present traffic on them.
The King himself, grave and reticent since the troubled days came, clapped hands as he watched the sweeping gallop, the turn-about, the precision of the troop when they reined in and saluted as if one man had six-score hands obeying the one ready loyalty. But the Queen grew pitiful; for she saw that most of these well-looking fellows carried wounds and a great tiredness.
"What is this scene you play?" asked the King.
"Sir, it is the Riding Metcalfs, come to help me raise recruits for the relief of York. Coeur de Lion died long ago, but these Northmen are alive for your service."
"My thanks, gentlemen," said Charles. "By the look of you, I think you could relieve York without other help."
Rupert pressed home his point. "Grant us leave, sir, to go wide through Lancashire and raise the siege of Lathom first. My Lord Derby was here only yesterday, after long travel from the Isle of Man."
The Queen, knowing how persistently Lord Derby had been maligned, how men had poisoned the King’s mind against him, caught Rupert’s eye and frowned at him. His nimble wit caught the challenge and answered it.
"Sir," he said, with the swiftness and assurance of a cavalry attack, "remember Lady Derby there at Lathom. She has held out for weary months—a woman, with a slender garrison to help her—has held out for the honour of the Stuart. Give me my Metcalfs, and other troops to raise, and grant us leave to go by way of Lathom House."
The King smiled. "I thought you a fighter only, Rupert. Now you’re an orator, it seems. Go, rescue Lady Derby; but, as you love me, save York. There are only two cities on the map to me these days—York and Oxford. The other towns count loss and gain, as tradesmen do."
Long stress of misunderstanding, futile gossip of courtiers unemployed, dripping poison into the King’s mind, were swept away. "As God sees me, sir, I ride only for your honour. The Metcalfs ride only for your honour."