“That’s maybe fair,” he grunted, and with his knife slit his prisoner’s bonds.
“Now, out with your grievances.”
The gypsy could talk, and a very damning indictment he made of it. “We was ’listed for overseas, with good chance of prize money, and a nobleman’s freedom. And now we’re bidden stop at home as if we was lousy lobsters that took the King’s money to trick the gallows. Is that fair and English, my sweet pretty gentleman? We’re to march tomorrow against the naked Highlanders that cut out a man’s bowels with scythes, and feed their dogs with his meat. Is that the kind of fighting you was dreaming of, my precious boys? No, says you, and we’ll be damned, says you, if we’ll be diddled. Back we goes to our pretty homes, but with a luckpenny in our pocket for our wasted time and our sad disappointment. Them sergeants has the money, and we’ll hold them upside down by the heels till we shake it out of them.”
Methody Sam replied, looking at Alastair. “It’s crool ’ard, but orders is orders. Them folks enlisted to do the King’s commands and if ’Is Majesty ’appens to change ’is mind, it’s no business o’ theirs or mine. The money me and Bill ’as is Government money, and if they force it from us they’ll be apprehended and ’anged as common robbers. I want to save their poor innocent souls from ’anging felony.”
The crowd showed no desire for salvation. There was a surge towards the two men and the gypsy’s hand would have been on the throat of Methody Sam had not Alastair struck it up. The smaller of the two noncommissioned officers was chafing his wrists, which his recent bonds had abraded, and lamenting that he had left his pistols at home.
“What made you come here with money and nothing to guard it?” Alastair asked.
“The General’s orders, sir. But it was different when we was temptin’ them with Ameriky and the Spaniards’ gold. Now we’ll need a file o’ loaded muskets to get ’em a step on the road. Ay, sir, we’ll be fort’nate if by supper time they’ve not all scattered like a wisp o’ snipes, takin’ with ’em ’Is Majesty’s guineas.”
“Keep beside me!” Alastair whispered. A sudden rush would have swept the little man off, had not Methody Sam plucked him back.
“Better yield quiet,” said the gypsy. “We don’t want no blood-lettin’, but we’re boys as is not to be played with. Out with the guineas, tear up the rolls, and the two of ye may go to Hell for all we care.”
“What are you going to do?” Alastair asked his neighbours.
The little man looked bleakly at the crowd. “There don’t seem much of a chance, but we’re bound to put up a fight, seein’ we’re in charge of ’Is Majesty’s property. That your notion, Sam?”
The Methody signified his assent by a cheerful groan.
“Then I’m with you,” said Alastair. “To the inn wall? We must get our backs protected.”
The suddenness of the movement and the glint of Alastair’s sword opened a way for the three to a re-entrant angle of the inn, where their flanks and rear were safe from attack. Alastair raised his voice.
“Gentlemen,” he said, “as a soldier I cannot permit mutiny. You will not touch a penny of His Majesty’s money, and you will wait here on General Oglethorpe’s orders. If he sees fit to disband you, good and well; if not, you march as he commands.”
Even as he spoke inward laughter consumed him. He, a follower of the Prince, was taking pains that certain troops should reach Wade, the Prince’s enemy. Yet he could not act otherwise, for the camaraderie of his profession constrained him.
The power of the armed over the unarmed was in that moment notably exemplified. There was grumbling, a curse or two, and sullen faces, but no attempt was made to rush that corner where stood an active young man with an ugly sword. The mob swayed and muttered, the gypsy went off on an errand behind the inn, one of the drunkards lurched forward as if to attack and fell prone. A stone or two was thrown, but Alastair showed his pistols, and that form of assault was dropped. The crowd became stagnant, but it did not disperse.
“I must get on to Flambury,” Alastair told his neighbours. “I cannot wait all day here. There is nothing for it but that you go with me. My pistols will get us a passage to my horse yonder, and we can ride and tie.”
The plan was never put into action. For at the moment from a window over their heads descended a shower of red-hot embers. All three leaped forward to avoid a scorching and so moved outside the protecting side wall. Then, neatly and suddenly, the little man called Bill was plucked up and hustled into the crowd. Alastair could not fire or draw upon a circle of gaping faces. He looked furiously to his right, when a cry on his left warned him that the Methody also had gone.
But him he could follow, for he saw the boots of him being dragged inside the inn door. Clearing his way with his sword, he rushed thither, stumbling over the greyhound and with a kick sending it flying. There were three steps to the door, and as he mounted them he obtained a view over the heads of the mob and down the village street. He saw his horse still peacefully tethered to the signpost, and beyond it there came into view a mounted troop clattering up the cobbles.
The door yielded to his foot and he received in his arms the Methody, who seemed to have made his escape from his captors. “They’ve got Bill in the cellar,” he gasped. “It’s that Gypsy Ben.” And then he was stricken dumb at something which
