"You shall have the key, Mr. Barnaby," said Michael. "Release him when and how you like. For ourselves, we ride to Oxford."
"Nay, you walk," said Barnaby, with great solemnity. "Oh, I know your breed! You’re all for going to the tavern for your horses. It will not do, gentles. The town is thick with Roundheads."
"How can we walk twenty miles, with our errand a day or two old already?" said Kit.
"Beggars must foot it, when need asks. Do you want to sing ’Christmas Pie’ again all down Banbury street, and have your errand spoiled? Listen, sirs. This town does not suit my health just now; it does not suit yours. Permit me to guide you out of it along a byway that I know."
Kit was impatient for the risk, so long as they found horses; but Michael saw the wisdom underlying Barnaby’s counsel. The three of them set out, along a cart-track first, that led between labourers’ cottages on one hand and a trim farmstead on the other, then into the open fields. A league further on they struck into the Oxford highway, an empty riband of road, with little eddies of dust blown about by the fingers of the quiet breeze.
"Here we part, gentles," said Barnaby, with his air of humorous pedantry. "Oxford is for kings and prelates. I know my station, and my thirst for a brew of ale they have four miles over yonder hill."
They could not persuade him that, drunk or sober, he had rescued them from Banbury, that they would be glad of his further company. He turned once, after bidding them farewell, and glanced at Kit with his merry hazel eyes. "I’ve got that song of Banbury," he said. "It all came to me when I saw you dandling the gaoler with the blue-bottle nose. Strife and battle always helped the poets of a country, sir, since Homer’s time."
"There goes a rogue," laughed Michael, listening to the man’s song of Banbury as he went chanting it up the rise. "Well, I’ve known worse folk, and he untied our hands."
They jogged forward on the road, and the day grew hot with thunder. The slowness of a walking pace, after months in the saddle, the heat to which they were unused as yet, after the more chilly north, seemed to make a league of every mile. Then the storm burst, and out of nowhere a fierce wind leaped at them, driving the rain in sheets before it. The lightning played so near at times that they seemed to be walking through arrows of barbed fire.