“The years behind,” snapped Rupert.
They listened to the stealthy goings and comings out of doors. Between the house-wall and the line of fire from Rupert’s window there was a clear five yards of sanctuary; and along this track of safety they could hear Goldstein’s men scrunch to and fro, carrying fuel of all kinds to the sturdy main door that had barred their progress until now. And once they heard a gruff command from the sergeant who led this enterprise.
“Stir yourselves, fools!” The rough German tongue sounded muffled from below. “We’ll catch ’em asleep; and there’s thirty thousand pounds indoors, and wine, and comfort; stir yourselves, my lads!”
Rupert did not understand the language of these hired soldiers, but the rough edge of a man’s voice carries meaning, whatever tongue he speaks.
“There’s no time to waste, Simon. We must get all our muskets down into the hall.”
He crossed the landing, told Ben Shackleton what was in the doing, and the three of them made speed with carrying the muskets down. The two older men borrowed something of the master’s eagerness and fire, forgetting that they were half dead for lack of sleep—sleep, which is more vital to a man than food, or drink, or happiness.
“They’ll fire the door, and come through the gap,” said Rupert, as if he spoke of trifles. “I take this wall; you stand close against the other.”
“I catch your drift, master,” said Simon, with a slow grip of understanding. “We shall be i’ the dark, and they’ll be red-litten by a bonfire o’ their own making. And they’ll have one shot apiece to fire, but we’ll have six. You frame not so varry ill, seeing how young you are.”
The master, by the light of a solitary candle that stood in a sconce overhead, saw to the priming of his muskets, laid them in an orderly row along the floor, and watched his men while they did the like. And then he bent an ear toward the main door. Its thickness, and the settle up-ended against it, let no sound come through, save now and then a dulled oath or quick command. And again there was a waiting-time, one of many that had come to Windyhough.
Rupert, sure that he would not be needed for a while, ran up the stairs and found Nance still sleeping like a child at her post, and roused her gently.