Farmer Raynes turned sharply to Roy.
“Can’t help ourselves, captain,” he cried, loudly; “but shot or no, we’re ready when you want us again.—Good-bye, Martlet, old comrade.—Take care of him, general, for he’s as fine a soldier as ever stepped.—Now, my lads, three cheers for my lady, and then march.”
The prisoners burst into a hearty roar, and were then escorted through the gate-way and over the drawbridge beyond the strong picket stationed by the earthwork. Here they cheered loudly again.
“Hallo! who are you?” said the general, sharply, as his eyes lit upon the flowing white hair and beard of the tottering old gate-keeper, who, fully armed, and with his head erect, took a few paces forward from where he had stood before unobserved.
“Sir Granby’s oldest follower, and his father’s afore him,” said Jenk, in his feeble, quavering voice. “Do I go with Ben Martlet and t’others to the prison?”
“No,” said the general, shortly; “stop and attend to your young master, and mind you don’t get playing tricks with that sword.”
“But I’m a soldier as has sarved—”
“Silence, Jenk!” said Roy, hastily stepping to his side. “You must not desert me; I’m quite alone now.”
“Oh, very well, if it’s like that, sir, I’ll stop with you,” quavered the old man; and he stepped stiffly behind his young master, unconscious of the smiles and whispers which arose.
Half an hour later the new garrison had settled down to its quarters; the three heavy guns from the battery had been brought in and planted in the gate-way to sweep the approach, and Royland Castle was transformed into a Parliamentary stronghold, protected by whose guns a little camp was formed just beyond the moat, and occupied by the cavalry of the force.