“Not I, for one.”
“Yes, you, for one, and I, for one, because we’re human. So few of your English folk are human, somehow, as I’ve seen them since my Highlanders crossed Annan River. They’re ill-clad, these Highland lads of mine, and raw to look at, but they carry the ready heart, Sir Jasper, and the simple creed—you can bend them till point meets hilt, like a Ferrara blade, and yet not break them.”
“We are tempered steel in Lancashire, your Highness,” said Sir Jasper, in passionate defence of his county. “Few of us have come to the Rising, but I can answer for each man of mine that follows you.”
“I was hasty; the pipes play that mood into a man. When we planned this Rising, years ago in France, the King—my father—bade me remember always that Lancashire was staunch and its women beautiful. The east wind must be excuse for me, too, Sir Jasper.”
“Your Highness, I spoke hastily. My temper, I tell you, is frayed at the edges by winter and harsh weather.”
“I like your temper well enough, Sir Jasper. Let’s take a pinch of snuff together, since there’s nothing else to do.”
It was in this mood that they rode into a little village clustered round a stream. The hamlet was so small that the crowd of men and women gathered round about the ford seemed bigger than its numbers. The villagers, enticed by the news that the Rising neared their borders, raised a sudden tumult when they saw the van of the army ride into sight. Curiosity held them, while fear and all the rumours they had heard prompted them to instant flight. Mothers clutched their babies, and turned as if to run for shelter, then turned again and halted between two minds, and must needs stay to see what these queer Highlanders were like. The younger women, glad of this respite from the day’s routine, ogled the Prince and Sir Jasper with unaffected candour. The men looked on sheepishly, afraid for their own safety, but not content to leave their women in the lurch.
“Here’s the cannibals from Scotland!” cried one big, shrill-voiced woman. “They feed on English babies, so we’re told. Dear mercy, I hope they’ve had their breakfast earlier on the road!”
The Prince checked his horse suddenly. His face was flushed, ashamed, as if a blow had struck him on the cheek. “My good woman,” he said, bending from saddle to look into her plump, foolish face, “have they lied so deep to you as that?”
“Lies? Nay, I know what I’m talking about, or should do at my years. There’ve been well-spoken gentry in and out these weeks past, and they all had the same tale; so it stands to reason the tale was true as Candlemas.” She set her arms akimbo. The quietness of this horseman who talked to her, his good looks and subtle air of breeding, had killed her terror and given her instead a bravado no less foolish. “Thou’rt well enough to look at, lad, and I wish I was younger, I do, to kiss ye on the sly when my man didn’t happen to be looking; but the rest o’ ye, coming down the road, ye’re as ragged a lot o’ trampish folk as I’ve set eyes on.”