With the King at Oxford: A Tale of the Great RebellionChurch, Alfred John
History
With the King at Oxford: A Tale of the Great Rebellion
Church, Alfred John
Great Britain -- History -- Civil War, 1642-1649 -- Fiction
It favoured us much that the night was dark as could well be at
midsummer, with such a roaring of the wind, which was more than
commonly stormy for that season of the year, that the noise of our
horses' hoofs could scarcely have been heard at twenty yards'
distance. We journeyed, too, by green lanes and by-ways, which John
Talboys knew marvellously well, rather than by high roads.
Nevertheless, we did not draw rein, save for a few minutes' breathing
space, till we came to Brackley, which is a small market town in the
county of Northampton, lying south by west of Banbury. We halted about
half-a-mile short of the town, where was a farmhouse that had been
deserted during the present troubles. We bestowed ourselves and our
horses in a barn, and laid ourselves down to sleep, Talboys first
taking some whiffs of tobacco, a herb in which he professes to find
much comfort. "Trouble not yourself, Master Philip," he said, before
he slept, "to wake over early; for we must be content to pass the day
here, and that without company, if we would not fall into the hands of
our enemies." I verily believe that it was noon before I awoke; for I
was much wearied by my ride, having been pent up in the city for
nearly a twelvemonth, and my legs never once across a horse's back.
I had just roused myself, and was looking about me, half-dazed, as a
man will sometimes be with a long slumber, when I heard a whistle, to
which straightway John whistles an answer. Thereupon an old man
thrusts his head in at the door, and presently follows with his whole
body. He was a parson, a man, I should say, of sixty or thereabouts,
his hair quite white, his face ruddy, with as merry a look in his eyes
as ever man had. He had a priest's cloak on him, which he threw off so
soon as he came within the door.
"Now beshrew this cloak," he said, with a laugh; "'tis cumbrous wear
for a midsummer day; but 'tis a rare thing if one has ought to hide;
better than a college gown; eh, Master Scholar?" Then we saw that he
had something in his hand wrapped in a napkin, which, when he had
unfolded, we saw a roasted capon.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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