Part 15 (1/2)

Pymfyd's honest face took on a set of mulish obstinacy. ”We cannot ride into town so free and easy, to rub elbows with the b.u.mpkins! Can you imagine Her Majesty's disapproval? You would be chided and I would be beaten. We must turn back, since the day advances.”

”It is still early! Devonet and Chiodys are only just settling to their needlework.”

Pymfyd gave a cry of consternation. He pointed westward along Old Street. ”Folk are approaching; they are gentry and you will be recognized! We must be gone before they arrive.”

Madouc heaved a sigh. Pymfyd's logic could not be refuted. Reining Tyfer about, she started back along Fans.h.i.+p Lane, only to stop short.

”What now?” demanded Pymfyd.

”A party is coming up Fans.h.i.+p Lane. That is Ca.s.sander on the bay horse, and it is no doubt King Casmir himself on the great black charger.”

Pymfyd gave a groan of despair. ”We are trapped!”

”Not so! We will cross Old Street and take cover up Fans.h.i.+p Lane until the way is clear.”

”A sound idea, for once!” muttered Pymfyd. ”Hurry! There is no time to waste; we can hide behind yonder trees!”

Touching up their horses, the two trotted across Old Street and north along the continuation of Fans.h.i.+p Lane, which quickly became little more than a track across the meadow. They approached a copse of poplar trees, where they hoped to take concealment.

Madouc called over her shoulder: ”I smell smoke!”

Pymfyd called back: ”There will be a crofter's hut nearby. You smell the smoke from his hearth.”

”I see no hut.”

”That is not our great concern. Quick now, into the shade!” The two took themselves under the poplars, where they discovered the source of the smoke: a fire over which a pair of vagabonds roasted a rabbit. One was short and big-bellied, with a round flat face surrounded by an untidy fringe of black beard and black hair. The second was tall and thin as a stick, lank of arm and leg, with a face long and vacuous, like the face of a cod. Both wore ragged garments and tattered buskins. The tall vagabond wore a high piked cap of black felt; his fat comrade wore a low-crowned hat with a very wide brim. To the side were a pair of sacks in which they evidently carried their belongings. At the sight of Madouc and Pymfyd, the two rose to their feet, and stood appraising the situation.

Madouc gave the two a cold inspection in return, and concluded that never had she encountered a more unsavory pair of rogues.

The short fat vagabond spoke: ”And what are you two doing here, so fresh and airy?”

”That is none of your concern,” said Madouc. ”Pymfyd, let us proceed; we disturb these persons at their meal.”

”Not at all,” said the short vagabond. He spoke to his tall comrade without taking his eyes from Madouc and Pymfyd. ”Ossip, have a look down the lane; see who else is near.”

”All clear; no one in sight,” reported Ossip.

”Those are fine horses,” said the burly rogue. ”The saddles and fitments are also of fine quality.”

”Sammikin, notice! The red-haired brat wears a golden clasp.”

”Is it not a farce, Ossip? That some wear gold, while others go without?”

”It is the injustice of life! Were I to wield power, everyone should share alike!”

”That is a n.o.ble concept indeed!”

Ossip peered at Tyfer's bridle. ”See here! Even the horse wears gold!” He spoke with unctuous fervor: ”Here is rich ness!”

Sammikin snapped his fingers. ”I cannot help but rejoice! The sun s.h.i.+nes bright and our luck has turned at last!”