“Ay, there’s something wrong, sir,” said Ben, gravely. “That we shall soon hear.”
The armed men stood fast on one side, and those disarmed in a group on the other, waiting excitedly to see what this new thing meant.
“It’s Farmer Raynes!” cried Roy.
“Ay, sir, that’s who it be. He was coming with a wainload of oats this morning, and he wants help, for he has broken down, I should say.”
The next minute the rider dashed up to the far gate, but did not draw rein, for he sent his horse thundering across the drawbridge before he checked the panting beast with a loud “woho!” and then threw himself off.
“What’s the matter, Master Raynes?” cried Roy.
“They’re here, sir,” whispered the bluff farmer, excitedly. “I’d got a wagon loaded with oats last night, and was taking ’em from Dendry Town to the farm ready for bringing on here i’ morning, when at a turn of the lane I come upon a troop of horse who surrounded the wagon at once, and a couple of ’em led me, whip and all, up to their officer, a lank-looking, yellow-faced fellow, who was sitting on his horse just under a tree.
“‘Where are you taking that grain?’ says he.
“‘On the king’s service,’ says I. ‘To Royland Castle.’
“His yellow wrinkly face grinned all over, and he turned and gave orders to an officer by him; and then I knew I’d made a mistake. For they were all well-mounted, and in a regular trooper’s uniform, and I thought I’d happened upon one of the king’s regiments, instead of which they were a pack of Roundhead rabble; and I had to drive the team back with the oats to their headquarters at Dendry Town. There they made me open a sack to feed their horses; and after that I was told I was a prisoner, and that my wagon and team was taken for the use of the state.”