A Midsummer Tempest Read Free

swords slung across their backs, pistols in their belts. The drawbridge boomed hollowly under their tread.
    The captive was unarmed and unarmored. The clothes he had worn beneath his mail—linsey-woolsey shirt, leather doublet, coarse hose of blue wadmal, knee-length flare-topped boots—had undergone a hasty cleaning which left faintly visible stains of grass, soil, sweat, and blood. His head was combed and barbered but hatless.
    His companion, who was of medium height, must crane neck backward to meet Rupert’s eyes. He smiled, a stiff little twitch, and said in his precise voice: “I do regret your Highness must go thus, as plain as any yokel, for the nonce. You’re such an unawaited guest, you see. This house holds naught that’s near to fitting you.”
    “No matter,” Rupert answered indifferently.
    “Oh, it is, if but to me. Sir Malachi Shelgrave’s honor makes demand that he show proper hospitality”—he drew breath—“to Rupert, Prince and nephew of the King, by birth Count of the Rhine Palatinate, Duke of Bavaria and Cumberland, the Earl of Holderness, a Knight o’ the Garter, and, over all such titles from the blood or from King Charles, his Captain-General.”
    For an instant, Rupert’s set calm broke. He halted and half raised a fist. Lips drew back from teeth, brows down above stare. The guards gripped fast their weapons.
    Shelgrave stood his ground, spread palms wide andexclaimed: “I pray your pardon, did I seem to mock! I merely wish to show with what great care I’ve studied you, our glorious opponent.”
    Rupert let fingers unclench and fall. Again there was nothing to read on his face. The Roundheads looked relieved.
    “This day a master tailor comes from Leeds,” Shelgrave proceeded rapidly. “He’ll measure you, drop every other work, and sleep will be a stranger to his shop till you are suited as becomes a prince in velvet, silk and cramoisie.”
    “No need,” said Rupert. “I am a soldier, not a popinjay.”
    His gaze probed the other man. Shelgrave met it, and for a minute they stood locked.
    At fifty years of age, the master of the land was still trim and erect. The hair had departed his high-domed skull, save for a brown fringe cut short around the ears; the grayish eyes were forever blinking; skin sagged beneath the chin of an otherwise cleanly molded sallow countenance; but those were almost the only physical scars which time had thus far dealt him. His clothes were of Puritan austerity in color and cut, though a glow in the dark hues bespoke rich material. A rapier hung at his waist, together with a large wallet.
    “At least your Highness needs a change or three,” he said. “I think you’ll grace this house—perhaps a month.”
    Rupert failed to keep surprise quite out of his tone. “That long a while?”
    “I pray my lord, consider.” Shelgrave resumed strolling. Rupert fell into step, as well as such long legs were able. The Parliamentarian glanced sideways at him before going on: “They say you are a most blunt-spoken man. Have I your leave to use frank words?”
    “Aye, do. I’m surfeited with two-tongued courtliness—” Rupert broke off.
    Shelgrave nodded knowingly. “Well, then,” he began, “your Highness—and Maurice, your brother, but you the foremost ever, these three years—you’ve been the very spearhead of our foes. Your name’s as dread as Lucifer’s in London. Without that living lightning bolt,yourself, the armies of unrighteousness—forgive me—would long be scattered from around the King like tempest clouds before a cleansing wind.”
    “In his sight,” Rupert snapped, “you’re the rude and ugly winter.”
    “He is misled.”
    “Continue what you’d say.”
    “May I indulge my curiosity?” (Rupert gave a brusque nod.) “Although I am no soldier born like you, I did see service under Buckingham in younger days, and was therefore made knight. Sithence a scholar of the art of war, among much else, I’ve read not only Caesar