“That boy, your Highness?” drawled the man at the table.
The blood came hot into Hugh’s cheeks. “I pray your Highness, hang me, if you will, but do not mock me,” he blurted out.
“Who speaks of hanging you here, lad?” Prince Rupert answered, in so kindly a fashion that Hugh gazed at him in surprise. “Nay, had I my way, I’d give a captaincy to every man who has the goodness to take off one of these cursed civilians who are always holding our hands. You are of the army, sir?”
“I hope to be, your Highness. I am only a volunteer now.”
“’Tis near enough for all soldiers to aid you as a fellow-soldier.—And how think you, Grandison, my Lord Bellasis would take it, if this gentleman received a free pardon?”
“He would deem himself most notably affronted,” the other answered soberly.
Hugh made a step forward and let his words come fast: “If it be your Highness’s will, if ’tis in your thought to aid me, I do entreat you, let my case go, so far as it concerns me. But there is my friend that went to the field with me, for my sake, and cared for me when I was ill with my hurt afterward. He lost a commission because of me. If there is only one can be pardoned, I beseech your Highness let it be he.”
“And how do they call this notable friend of yours?”
“Richard Strangwayes, your Highness. He was lieutenant in the regiment of Sir William Pleydall.”
“Pleydall? Ah, your case was brought unto our notice two months back. Ay, surely. Gwyeth and Strangwayes. Sir William Pleydall was urging your pardon through a certain Captain Gwyeth who came to me.”