It was an odd hour of waiting. Messengers galloped4 constantly from the York road, saying there was no speck5 of dust to show that Newcastle was coming with reinforcements. Rupert's men, with the jollity attending on a feast snatched by unexpected chance, began to reassemble. Two o'clock came, and the heat increasing. Overhead there was a molten sky, and the rye-fields where the enemy were camped showed fiery6 red under the lash7 of a wild, pursuing wind.
It was not until another hour had passed that Rupert began to lose his keen, high spirits. He was so used to war in the open, to the instant summons and the quick answer, that he could not gauge8 the trouble of York's garrison9, the slowness of men and horses who had gone through months of wearisome inaction. It is not good for horse or man to be stabled overlong out of reach of the free pastures and the gallop3.
About half after three o'clock some of his company brought in to Rupert a big, country-looking fellow, and explained that they had captured him spying a little too close to the Royalist lines.
"What mun we do to him?" asked the spokesman of the party, in good Wharfedale speech. "We've hammered his head, and ducked him i' th' horse-pond, and naught10 seems to serve. He willun't say, Down wi' all Croppies."
"Then he's the man I'm seeking—a man who does not blow hot and cold in the half-hour. Your name, friend?"
"Ezra Wood, and firm for the Parliament."
"We hold your life at our mercy," said Rupert, with a sharp, questioning glance. "Tell us the numbers and disposition11 of Lord Fairfax's army."
"As man to stark12 man, I'll tell ye nowt. My mother sat on one stool while she nursed me, not on two."
Rupert had proved his man. The pleasure of it—though Ezra Wood happened to be fighting on the other side—brought the true Prince out of hiding. Through fatigue13 of hurried marches, through anxiety because York's garrison lingered on the way, the old Crusader in him showed.
"Is Cromwell with your folk?" he asked.
"He is—staunch in prayer and staunch indeed."
"Then go free, and tell him that Prince Rupert leads the right wing of the attack. I have heard much of his Ironsides, and trust to meet them on the left wing."
Ezra Wood had no subtleties14, which are mistaken now and then for manners. He looked Rupert in the face with a hard sort of deference15. "So thou'rt the man they call Rupert?" he said. "Well, ye look it, I own, and I'll carry your message for ye gladly."
"And you will return, under safe-conduct, with his answer."
About five of the afternoon—all Marston Moor16 ablaze17 with a red, unearthly light—the first of the York men came in. Rupert's impulsive18 welcome grew chilly19 when he saw that Lord Eythin led them; and Boye, whose likes and dislikes were pronounced, ran forward growling20.
"Whistle your dog off, sir—whistle him off," said Eythin irritably21.
Rupert, with a lazy smile, watched Boye curvet round Eythin in narrowing circles. "Why should I?" he asked gently. "He never bites a friend."
Eythin reddened. Memory of past years returned on him, though he had thought the record drowned in wine and forgotten out of sight. He asked fussily22 what plans Rupert had made for the coming battle.
"Monstrous23!" he snapped. "Oh, I grant you've a knowledge of the charge, with ground enough in front to gather speed. But what are your cavalry24 to make of this? You stand to wait their onset25, and their horses are heavy in the build."
Rupert nodded curtly26. "Get your men into line, sir. You are here to fight under orders, not to attend a council of war."
As Eythin withdrew sullenly27, a sudden uproar29 came down the wind. Then the shouting, scattered30 and meaningless at first, grew to a rousing cry of "A Mecca for the King!" Michael glanced at Christopher, and pride of race showed plainly in their faces.
"Ah," laughed Rupert, "it was so they came when we played pageantry before the King at Oxford31. Go bring your folk to me, Mr. Metcalf."
They came, drew up with the precision dear to Rupert's heart, saluted32 briskly. "Gentlemen," he said, "I am proud to have you of my company. Is my Lord Newcastle near Marston yet?"
The Squire33 of Nappa explained that those under Newcastle's command had suffered during the late siege—men and horses were so weak from illness that no zeal34 in the world could bring them faster than a foot-pace. He knew this, because he had passed them on the road, had had speech of them. Lord Newcastle himself, a man no longer young, had kept a long illness at bay until the siege was raised, and now he was travelling in his coach, because he had no strength to sit a horse.
"Oh, I had forgotten!" said Rupert. "All's in the losing, if they take overlong. I should have remembered, though, that the garrison needed one night's sleep at least."
While they talked, Ezra Wood returned with the trooper sent to give him safe-conduct through the lines and back again. He did not salute—simply regarded Rupert with dour35 self-confidence. "General Cromwell sends this word to Prince Rupert—that, if his stomach is for fighting, he shall have it filled."
Rupert was silent. Cromwell, it seemed, had missed all the meaning of the challenge sent him; war had not taught him yet the nicer issues that wait on bloodshed. He stooped to pat Boye's head with the carelessness that had angered many a council of war at Oxford. Then he glanced at Ezra Wood.
"There is no General Cromwell. The King approves all commissions of that kind. Go tell Mr. Cromwell that we are waiting for him here."
Cromwell, when Ezra Wood returned and found him, was standing36 in the knee-deep rye, apart from his company. His eyes were lifted to the sky, but he saw none of the signs of brewing37 storm. He was looking into the heaven that he had pictured day by day and year by year when he rode in the peaceful times about his snug38 estate in Rutland. Then, as now, he was cursed by that half glimpse of the mystic gleam which hinders a man at times more than outright40
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