"Is she well, sir?" asked the other eagerly. "I aye had a weakness for the skew-tempered jade."
"Come, your news?" snapped Newcastle.
"It's this way, gentles. I can talk well enough when I'm selling produce for the best price it will fetch—and prices rule high just now, I own—but I'm shy when it comes to talking wi' my betters."
"Then put some wine into your body," laughed Malone. "It's a fine remedy for shyness."
"And thank ye, sir," said the rogue, with a quiet, respectful wink. "I'm aye seeking a cure for my prime malady."
"Well?" asked Newcastle, after the cup was emptied.
"It tingles right down to a body's toes, my lord—a very warming liquor. As for what I came to say, 'tis just this. I'm for the King myself. I never could bide these Parliament men, though I sell victuals to 'em. I come to tell ye that there's no siege of York at all."
He told them, in slow, unhurried speech, how news had come that Rupert lay at Knaresborough, how the Parliament men had gone out to meet him on the road to York, glad of the chance of action, and trusting by weight of numbers to bear down the man who had glamoured England with the prowess of his cavalry.
Confusion followed the sutler's news. Some—Newcastle himself among them—were eager to send out what men they could along the Knaresborough road to aid Rupert. Others insisted that the cavalry, men and horses, were so ill-conditioned after long captivity that they could not take the road to any useful purpose. A sharp sortie, packed with excitement, was a different matter, they said, from a forced march along the highway.
When the hubbub was at its loudest, another messenger came in. The Prince sent his compliments to Lord Newcastle, and had taken his route by way of Boroughbridge, "lest the enemy should spoil a well-considered plan," that Goring was with him, that they might look for him between the dusk and the daylight. The messenger added that the Prince had his good dog Boye with him, and he knew that the hound carried luck even in fuller measure than his master.