Thus refreshed, he expanded his searching, hauling aside a couple of the stiff, cold foemen. When at last he led Prideful on toward the sound of the horn, he had added to the gelding’s load three full water bottles, a half-dozen powder flasks of varying degrees of fullness, and three pairs of big wheel-lock pistols—valuable, because many horsemen of King Arthur’s army still were armed with matchlock weapons—and his new jackboots were stuffed with cased broadswords and daggers, none of them so ornate as the set he had appropriated, but all of the same superb steel and balance.
And under his stinking, soaked clothing, the moneybelt about his waist sagged, bulging with an assortment of golden coins. Tightly buttoned into his shirt pockets under his corselet were two little doeskin bags filled with scintillating gem-stones. He recognized that the treasure was most probably loot, but rationalized that the original owners were likely dead.
Several of the squadron’s captains were already gathered under the tattered, sodden banner bearing the Whyffler arms, all looking wrung-out, spent, haggard. Buddy Webster sat propped against a dead horse with the hornblower beside him; the massive man’s chin was sunk onto his chest and his mores rivaled the intermittent bellows of the horn.
Sir Francis, at least ten years the senior of the eldest of his captains, was the freshest-looking of the lot, though his armor and clothing showed that he had been in the thick of more than one engagement. His face was as clean as cold sea water could make it, his cheeks were shaven, and his beard trimmed.
He strode briskly through the deep sand, threw his arms about Foster, and hugged him with fierce affection. “Ah, Bash, Bash . . . faghr He spat out the pebble he had been rolling on his tongue to dampen his mouth.
“Bass, lad, I’d afeered ye slain, for a’ I ken ye Forsters be a mickle hard lot tae put paid tae.”
Long ago, Foster had given up trying to convince Sir Francis that he was not a member of that famous and ferocious borderer house, and, in consequence, he was now Captain Squire Forster to all the army, save only Collier and Webster.
Stepping back, the old man noticed the laden horse, and the skin at the corners of his bright eyes crinkled. “Ha/ Been a-looting, have ye? The mark o’ the old sojer, that be. Did ye chance on a stoup o’ water, lad?”
When Foster had led Prideful—looking fitter and more mettlesome after the long, slow walk and a helmetful of whiskey-and-water—over to the group of officers, he first passed around the three canteens, then shared enough of his looted gunpowder for each man to recharge his weapons, just then, noting the empty scabbard still buckled to the squadron commander’s baldric, he pulled the best-looking sword from the bundle of captured weapons and presented it.
Sir Francis drew the long blade and, shedding his gauntlet, j tested edge and point, then flexed and weighed it, ending with a look of reverent awe on his well-bred features. But then he ! sheathed the blade slowly and shaking his head said, “Och, nae, Bass, lad. Twas a noble gesture an’ a’, an’ I’ll e’er remember ye for ‘t But yon blade’s a rich trophy, nae doot ata’ but yell get twenty pound or more, an’ ye be fool enough tae sell it. It be o’ the renewed Tara steel, sich as the High King’s royal smith alane can fashion. They be rare e’en in Ireland, rarer still here. They ne’er break, ne’er rust, an1 ne’er lose edge. Tis ever sojer’s dream tae e’n touch ane.”
But Foster insistently pushed the weapon back into his leader’s hands. “No, Sir Francis; this fight may not be over, and you need a sword, I didn’t know these blades to be anything special when I gathered them, and I’d intended them for such of my men as had lost or broken their own. So take it, sir. Please do. Why not consider the sword payment for Prideful, here?”
“Would ye sae shame me then, Bass? The geldin’ were t puir, partial payment tae ye for a’ ye done in service tae the Hoose o’ Whyffler. An’ for a’ he be the get of a fine eich what I lifted outen the Merse, back in me reavin’ days, yet this fine blade will easy buy four o’ his like.”