fuel of my zeal.”
After standing for a few minutes he added calmly, “Tonight I’ll quench my fire and balm my burns in the cool chastities of measurement amidst Thy stars, till sleep returns, or dawn.”
He unfolded the tripod of his telescope.
vii
A GLADE IN THE FOREST.
T REES were a darkling wall around, with frosted parapets. Moonlight whitened grass, daisies, cowslips, primroses; dew, which chilled and soaked feet, made shards of brilliance. Near the middle reared a monolith, twice a man’s height. Though the weathers and lichens of none knew how many years had softened its edges, it remained a stern thing to see.
Two horses stood at the border of the opening. Common farm beasts, they bore nothing save tethers. A steady
crunch-crunch
and sweet smell of broken herbs rose from their jaws.
Will Fairweather lounged against the stone and used an eating knife to pare his nails. He had put back on his dragoon’s outfit, sans Royalist tokens, in spite of its woeful condition. A cavalry sword hung at either hip. He sang to himself, low enough that one might have called it a mumble were it less off-key:
“Oh, whan I war in love with thee,
’Twar hey, derry, down, derry, down tha
livelong day,
For thou didst love to wrassle me,
Down amidst tha bushes an’ down upon tha
hay;
An’ whan tha stars winked bawdy eyes,
’Twar hey, derry, down, derry, down tha
livelong night,
For moare than moon did than arise,
Down upon tha mattress until tha down
took flight.
But whan—”
He broke off. Rupert and Jennifer crashed through undergrowth, out beneath the sky. Their clothes, snagged, soaked, stained, were worse for hard travel than they themselves. Nonetheless she sank gratefully among the flowers.
Rupert bounded through them. “Will!” he roared. “Thou old rascal!” He seized the man and hugged him till ribs creaked.
The other staggered. “Whoof! Your Highness overbears me. A month’s baitin’ by Roundhead dogs ha’ lost you no foa’ce. Pray take caere, lest you make my breastplate into a buckler.” He recovered his balance, to stand in front of the prince’s height and bulk for a span of silence before he asked: “Did Jen—Mis’ess Jennifer ’splain how ’tis, in tha note she smuggled you?”
“Aye.” Rupert’s glance went admiringly to her. “I wish most of my officers could write such a dispatch, clear, complete, and terse. Our cause would be in better case. She even revealed thou’st no blame in what happened to Boye. Not but what I couldn’t forgive thee that, or anything else this side treason, which word I do believe thou canst not tell the meaning of—after what thou’st done.”
“Not done; begun. We’ve starvelin’ little to go on, my loard. Zee, I plucked an extra weapon for you off tha battlefield. I marked where yon two hoa’ses war kept outdoors, an’ this night liberated ’em; but they ben’t any Pegasuses, no zaddles came in the bargain for them mighty sharp-lookin’ backs, an’ we’ll have to cut bridles from this roape you carry. Nor could I hoist moare’n a chunk o’ bread an’ stale cheese from tha dame who gave me barn-room; she war eager to visit me there after dark, aye, but her own zausages she keeps under lock an’ key. How much money has my lady got together for us?”
“Why, I never thought—” Rupert turned back toward her.
She touched a purse at her waist. “No better than a few florins,” she told him sadly. “I’m never allowed more at a time.”
“Well, we’ll forage as we fare,” Rupert assured them.
“Across half or moare of England, acrawl with ill-wishers?” Will protested. “Tha word o’ your escape’ll splatter as fast as relays can gallop—or faster, unthanks to them damned zemaphoare things along o’ tha railways. No doubt there’ll be a whoppin’ price on you. An’ a man o’ your Highness’ zize an’ bearin’ ben’t just easy to disguise.”
“We must try—travel by night—”
“An’ if we do
After standing for a few minutes he added calmly, “Tonight I’ll quench my fire and balm my burns in the cool chastities of measurement amidst Thy stars, till sleep returns, or dawn.”
He unfolded the tripod of his telescope.
vii
A GLADE IN THE FOREST.
T REES were a darkling wall around, with frosted parapets. Moonlight whitened grass, daisies, cowslips, primroses; dew, which chilled and soaked feet, made shards of brilliance. Near the middle reared a monolith, twice a man’s height. Though the weathers and lichens of none knew how many years had softened its edges, it remained a stern thing to see.
Two horses stood at the border of the opening. Common farm beasts, they bore nothing save tethers. A steady
crunch-crunch
and sweet smell of broken herbs rose from their jaws.
Will Fairweather lounged against the stone and used an eating knife to pare his nails. He had put back on his dragoon’s outfit, sans Royalist tokens, in spite of its woeful condition. A cavalry sword hung at either hip. He sang to himself, low enough that one might have called it a mumble were it less off-key:
“Oh, whan I war in love with thee,
’Twar hey, derry, down, derry, down tha
livelong day,
For thou didst love to wrassle me,
Down amidst tha bushes an’ down upon tha
hay;
An’ whan tha stars winked bawdy eyes,
’Twar hey, derry, down, derry, down tha
livelong night,
For moare than moon did than arise,
Down upon tha mattress until tha down
took flight.
But whan—”
He broke off. Rupert and Jennifer crashed through undergrowth, out beneath the sky. Their clothes, snagged, soaked, stained, were worse for hard travel than they themselves. Nonetheless she sank gratefully among the flowers.
Rupert bounded through them. “Will!” he roared. “Thou old rascal!” He seized the man and hugged him till ribs creaked.
The other staggered. “Whoof! Your Highness overbears me. A month’s baitin’ by Roundhead dogs ha’ lost you no foa’ce. Pray take caere, lest you make my breastplate into a buckler.” He recovered his balance, to stand in front of the prince’s height and bulk for a span of silence before he asked: “Did Jen—Mis’ess Jennifer ’splain how ’tis, in tha note she smuggled you?”
“Aye.” Rupert’s glance went admiringly to her. “I wish most of my officers could write such a dispatch, clear, complete, and terse. Our cause would be in better case. She even revealed thou’st no blame in what happened to Boye. Not but what I couldn’t forgive thee that, or anything else this side treason, which word I do believe thou canst not tell the meaning of—after what thou’st done.”
“Not done; begun. We’ve starvelin’ little to go on, my loard. Zee, I plucked an extra weapon for you off tha battlefield. I marked where yon two hoa’ses war kept outdoors, an’ this night liberated ’em; but they ben’t any Pegasuses, no zaddles came in the bargain for them mighty sharp-lookin’ backs, an’ we’ll have to cut bridles from this roape you carry. Nor could I hoist moare’n a chunk o’ bread an’ stale cheese from tha dame who gave me barn-room; she war eager to visit me there after dark, aye, but her own zausages she keeps under lock an’ key. How much money has my lady got together for us?”
“Why, I never thought—” Rupert turned back toward her.
She touched a purse at her waist. “No better than a few florins,” she told him sadly. “I’m never allowed more at a time.”
“Well, we’ll forage as we fare,” Rupert assured them.
“Across half or moare of England, acrawl with ill-wishers?” Will protested. “Tha word o’ your escape’ll splatter as fast as relays can gallop—or faster, unthanks to them damned zemaphoare things along o’ tha railways. No doubt there’ll be a whoppin’ price on you. An’ a man o’ your Highness’ zize an’ bearin’ ben’t just easy to disguise.”
“We must try—travel by night—”
“An’ if we do
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