"Well, sir?" she asked sharply. "You rob me of sleep for some good reason, doubtless. Sleep? You could have asked no dearer gift. But the King himself commands, you say?"
Kit faced her ill-temper, and she liked him for it.
"My lady," he said, "Prince Rupert bids me tell you that he comes your way, for the relief of Lathom. He bids me tell you that Lathom House has lit a fire of loyalty6 from one end to the other of your county."
"So Rupert comes at last?" she asked eagerly.
"As soon as he can gather forces. Meanwhile, he sends me as his deputy, and that's one more sword-arm at your service."
Again she looked him up and down; and smiled. "I like big men. They help to fill this roomy house I'm defending for my husband and the King—for the King and my husband, I should say, if I were not a better wife than courtier."
Kit, for his part, could not take his eyes away from her. Two women of the breed he had seen before, and two only—the Queen, with courage gloved by French, disarming7 courtesy, and the downright mistress of Ripley Castle. As Lady Derby stood there, the traces of her twelve months' Calvary were apparent, because she had been roused suddenly from sleep, and pride had not asserted full control as yet. Under her tired eyes the crows'-feet showed like spiders' webs; her face was thin and drawn9; and yet there was a splendour about her, as if each day of each week of hardship had haloed her with grace. She was, in deed as in name, the great lady—so great that Kit felt dwarfed10 for a moment. Then his manhood returned, in a storm of pity to protect this woman.
"Go sleep again," he said. "I was wrong to rouse you with my news."
She laughed, low and pleasantly, like a breeze blowing through a rose-garden. "I slept with nightmares. You are forgiven for rousing me with news that Rupert comes."
Then she, too, saw how weary this Riding Metcalf was, and touched him on the arm with motherly admission of his tiredness. "You need food and wine, sir. I was thoughtless."
The grey old servant, standing11 like a watch-dog on the threshold, caught her glance, and came in by and by with a well-filled tray.
"Admit that we are well-provisioned, Mr. Metcalf. The siege has left some niceties of the table lacking, but we do well enough."
She nibbled12 at her food, intent on keeping his riotous13 appetite in countenance14. By the lines in his face, by the temperate15 haste with which he ate and drank, she knew him for a soldier older than his years.
"Tell me how it sped with your riding from the North?" she asked.
"It went bonnily—a fight down Skipton Raikes, and into the market-place. Then to Ripley, and running skirmishes; and, after that, the ride to Oxford16. I saw the King and Rupert, and all the prayers I ever said were answered."
"Oh, I'm tired here, waiting at home with gunshots interrupting every meal. Tell me how the King looked."
"Tired, as you are—resolute, as if he went to battle—and he bade me give you the frankest acknowledgment of his regard."
"Ah, he knows, then—knows a little of what we've done at Lathom?"
"He knows all, and Rupert knows."
On the sudden Lady Derby lost herself. Knowledge that the King praised her, sheer relief that the Prince was marching to her aid, came like rain about her, breaking up the long time of drought. Then she dried her eyes.
"I, too, have fought," she explained, "and have carried wounds. Now, sir, by your leave, are you rested sufficiently17? Well, then, I need you for a sortie by and by."
From the boy's laughter, his sharp call to attention, she knew again that he was of the soldier's breed.
"Weeks ago—it seems years by now—this Colonel Rigby who besieges18 us planted a mortar19 outside our gates. Our men sallied and killed many, and brought the mortar in."
"Good," said Kit. "I saw it as I came through the courtyard, and wondered whether you or they had put it out of action."
"My folk put it out of action. And now they've brought up another mortar. We dare not let it play even for a day on crumbling20 walls. There's to be a sortie within the hour. One of my officers is dead, and two are wounded. Sir, will you lead a company for me?"
"Luck always comes my way," assented21 Kit.
"But you do not ask what strength you have to follow you?"
"What strength you can give me. I am at your service."
When Lady Derby mustered22 all she could spare from her slender garrison23, Kit found himself the leader of twenty men, some hale enough, others stained with the red-rust that attends on wounds.
"Friends," he said, "the moon is up, and there's light enough to guide us in the open."
They liked him. He wasted no speech. He was mired24 with travel of wet roads, and his face was grey and tired, but they knew him, for they had seen other leaders spur them to the hazard.
Some went out through the main gate of Lathom, and waited under shadow of the walls. Others joined them by way of little doors, unknown to the adversary25. They gathered, a battered26 company, led by officers half drunk with weariness, and ahead they saw the moonlight shining on the mortar, reared on its hillock.
Beyond the hillock a besieging27 army of three thousand men slept in security, save for the hundred who kept guard about the mortar. These five-score men were wakeful; for Colonel Rigby—a weakling cloaked in self-importance—had blustered28 round them an hour ago, had assured them that Lady Derby was the Scarlet29 Woman, known otherwise as Rome, and with quick invective30 had threatened them with torture and the hangman if they allowed this second mortar to go the way its predecessor31 had taken weeks ago. He had sent an invitation broadcast through the countryside, he explained, bidding folk come to see the mortar play on Lathom House to-morrow.
Through the dusk of the moonlight Kit and the rest crept forward. Quick as the sentry33 shouted the alarm, they were on their feet. They poured in a broadside of musketry at close range, then pressed forward, with swords, or clubbed guns, or any weapon that they carried. It was not a battle, but a rout34. In ten minutes by the clock they found themselves masters of the field. The mortar was theirs, and for the moment they did not know what to do with it. From behind came the sleepy roar of soldiery, new-roused from sleep by the retreating guardians35 of the mortar, and there was no time to waste.
One Corporal Bywater, a big, lean-bodied man, laughed as he touched Kit on the arm. "Had a wife once," he said. "She had her tantrums, like yond mortar—spat fire and venom36 with her tongue. I cured her with the help of a rope's end."
Bywater, remembering the previous escapade, had lashed37 two strong ropes about his body, in readiness for this second victory. The cordage, as it happened, had saved him from a death-wound, struck hurriedly by a Parliament man. He unwrapped it now with a speed that seemed leisurely38. Rigby's soldiery, from the moonlit slopes behind, buzzed like a hornet's nest. There was indeed no time to waste.
Christopher Metcalf was not tired now, because this hazard of the Lathom siege had captured his imagination. His soul was alert, and the travel-stained body of him was forgotten. Captain Chisenhall detached fourteen of the sortie party to drag the mortar into Lathom House. The rest he sent forward, raised a sudden shout of "For God and the King!" and went pell-mell into the first of Rigby's oncoming men. Though on foot, there was something of the dash of cavalry39 in this impetuous assault, and for a while they drove back the enemy; then weight of numbers prevailed, and Kit, his brain nimble, his heart singing some old pibroch of the hills his forefathers40 had tilled, entrenched42 his men on the near side of the earthworks Rigby had built to protect his mortar. There was some stark44, in-and-out fighting here, until the Roundheads began to deploy45 in a half circle, with intent to surround Kit's little company. Then he drew back his men for a score yards, led a last charge, and retreated to the Lathom gateway46 in time to see the mortar dragged safely into the main courtyard.
When the gate was closed, and Kit came out of the berserk madness known as war, he saw the Lady of Lathom in the courtyard.
"But, indeed, sir, you've done very well," said she, moving through the press of men to give him instant greeting.
"It was pastime." Kit's voice was unsteady yet, his head swimming with the wine that drips, not from red grapes, but from the sword that has taken toll47 of human life. "We brought the mortar in."
"You did, friends. Permit me to say good-night. I have need to get to my knees, thanking God that he sends so many gentlemen my way."
After she was gone, and the men were gathered round the peat fire in the hall, Kit was aware that he was at home. All were united here, as the Metcalfs were united. Private jealousies48 were lost in this need to defend Lathom for the King. Captain Chisenhall was here, stifling49 a yawn as he kicked the fire into a glow, Fox, and Worrall and Rawstorn, and others whose faces showed old with long service to this defence of Lathom—the defence that shone like the pole star over the descending50 night that was to cover kingship for a while.
They asked news of the Riding Metcalfs; and that, in turn, drew them to talk of Lathom's siege. They told him of Captain Radcliffe, who had led twelve sorties from the house, and had spread dismay among the enemy until they feared even the whisper of his name.
"I was never one for my Lady Derby's prayerful view of life," said Rawstorn, his gruff voice softening51, "but Radcliffe was on her side. He'd slip away before a sortie, and we knew he was praying at the altar of the little chapel52 here. Then he would come among us, cracking a jest; but there was a light about his face as if the man were glamoured."
"I know that glamour53, too," said Kit, with his unconquerable simplicity54. "There's a cracked bell rings me in on Sabbath mornings to our kirk in Yoredale."
"What do you find there, lad?" asked a rough elder of the company.
"Strength undeserved, and the silver sheen of wings."
So then they were silent; for they knew that he could fight and pray—-two qualities that men respect.
It was the big-jowled elder who broke the silence. "Say, laddie, can you drink?" he growled55.
"A bucketful, if I'm not needed on this side of the dawn."
Comfort of the usual kind might be lacking here at Lathom, but the cellar was well filled. And Kit, as the wine passed round, learned the truth that comes from unlocked tongues. They talked of the siege, these gallants who had kept watch and ward32; they told how Lady Derby had trained her children not to whimper when cannon-shot broke roughly into the dining-hall; they told how Captain Radcliffe, his head erect, had gone out for the thirteenth sortie, how they had warned him of the ill-omen.
"Oh, he was great that day," said Rawstorn. "'If I were Judas, I should fear thirteen,' said he. 'As the affair stands, I'm stalwart for the King.' He was killed in an attack on the east fort; and when we sortied and brought his body in, there was a smile about his lips."
Little by little Christopher pieced together the fragments of that long siege. Lady Derby's single-mindedness, her courage and sheer charm, were apparent from every word spoken by these gentlemen who drank their liquor. The hazards of the men, too—the persistent57 sorties, the give-and-take and pathos58 and laughter of their life within doors—were plain for Kit to understand. At Oxford and elsewhere there had been spite and rancour, jealousy59 of one King's soldier against another. Here at Lathom there was none of that; day by day of every month of siege, they had found a closer amity60, and their strength had been adamant61 against an overpowering force outside their gates.
Kit learned much, too, of Colonel Rigby, who commanded the attack. A hedge-lawyer by training—one who had defended night-birds and skulkers of all kinds—he had found himself lifted to command of three thousand men because Sir Thomas Fairfax, a man of sound heart and chivalry62, grew tired of making war upon a lady. Rigby enjoyed the game. He cared never a stiver for the Parliament, but it was
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CHAPTER XIV. A STANLEY FOR THE KING.
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