"Why so moody, li’le Christopher?" asked Michael, riding at his brother’s bridle-hand.
"I fancied war was simple, and I’m losing myself among the mists, somehow."
"An old trick of yours. Mistress Joan taught it you. There was a lady, too, in Knaresborough, who gave you lessons in the pastime."
"But this Captain Lambert is besieging Skipton, and Mallory defends it, and one asks the other to sup with him when the affair is over. That is not stark fighting, Michael."
"Why not, lad? Lambert’s cannon will thunder just as merrily when the truce is ended. The world jogs after that fashion."
It was when they were pressing on to York the next day—after a brief night’s sleep in the open and a breakfast captured by each man as best he could—that the Prince rode back to the white company of horses that carried the Metcalf clan. He reined about on finding Michael.
"You found your way into York once for me, sir. You will do it a second time. Bid them be ready. Tell them we travel as quickly as may be, and sorties from their three main gates, when the moment comes, will be of service."
"My thanks for the errand. May I ask a second boon, your Highness?"
"Oh, I think one would grant you anything in reason. A man with your merry eyes is privileged."
"I had a sutler’s donkey with me in the first attempt. She brought me luck, undoubtedly—we had the like temperament, she and I—but we lost her during these forced marches. Can I have Christopher here to share the venture?"
Kit reddened, then laughed the jest aside. And the Prince, as he looked at these two, so dissimilar and yet so full of comradeship, thought of his own brother Maurice, and wished that he were here.
"Ay, take him with you," he said; "he will steady your venture. And, gentlemen, take your route at once."
"You heard what he said?" asked Christopher, after the Prince had spurred forward to the main body. "I shall steady your venture. There’s a counter for your talk of donkeys, Michael."
Michael said nothing. As one who knew his brother’s weakness, he waited till they were well on their way to York, and had reached a finger-post where four cross-roads met.
"We might go by way of Ripley," he hazarded, pointing to the left-hand road.
"Why, yes," said Kit unguardedly. "It is the nearest way, and the road better—