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Castaways in Time by Adams Robert

As the enemy host broke camp and prepared to take up their journey, Sir Francis scrutinized them through Foster’s big 7×50 binoculars, of which he had become quite fond.

They be French, the bastards,” he announced, at length, though never taking the optics from his eyes.

“You can hear that well?” queried Collier. “It all sounds just a confused babble to me.”

The old nobleman’s pointed vandyke—not quite pure white, being shot through with errant strands of light auburn—bobbed as he silently laughed. “Och, nae, my gude magister, I can but tell from the moving o’ the whoresons’ lips wha’ whords they be speaking. Aye,v they be mostly French, wi’ at least a few Savoyards . . . wait noo, some Flemishers, too. Och, ’tis a fine kettle of tainted fish the thrice-domned Pope has sent intae our lands.”

They stayed close until the enemy rear guard was nearly an hour over the horizon, then hurriedly crossed the ford and rode hard to the southeast It was not until they were bare miles from York that they were forced to fight for their passage, and this not with foreign Crusaders, but with a band of common brigands. In a morning’s misty rain, the highwaymen must have mistaken the party with its long packtrain for merchants, rather than armed, alert and bellicose gentlemen and their retainers; few of them lived to reflect on their hasty follies. Briskly, Sir Francis’ men stripped the dead and dying robbers of their arms and anything else that looked to be usable or of value, loaded the booty onto such horses as could be easily caught, and resumed their ride. In midaf ternoon, they came within sight of York. The town was filled to more than overflowing, what with the King and his retinue, gathering supporters and their armed bands, hordes of humbler folk from smaller towns and villages and the countryside seeking the protection of the strong walls and trained fighters afforded by this temporary capital—all in addition to the usual inhabitants. The provost was allowed to believe that they were but another trooplet of King’s men from the northern marches, whereupon he assigned them an area in which to pitch their tents. When all was in order in his camp, Sir Francis rode to seek the King. Seated on the groundcloth of his pyramid-tent, his disassembled firearms spread on an improvised table made of a piece of planking atop his tight-rolled sleeping bag, F< was absorbed in carefully cleaning and oiling his Colt, Winchester pumpgun, and his two new horsepistols. In rear of the tent lay Webster, snoring resoundingly on blankets, his leather buffcoat rolled up for^a pillow. Collk was out roaming the camps, fascinatedly. When he had reassembled the automatic and the shotgm he broke the two Stevens Model 94s—only the pistol grip an fore-end remaining of the stock, and with barrels shortens to thirteen inches—and held them up to the light of the dool way. The black-powder-reloaded shells had left an unbelief able amount of fouling in the smooth bore. He set himself I the task of removing it “Amazing.” Collier wandered in, still armored and hel ed, his fflthy, muddy jackboots leaving broad stains on groundcloth.” “What’s going to be amazing,” Foster grinned, “is the of the hole I’m going to blast through you if you donl remember to take off those cobbler’s nightmares or at 1 clean them before you come into this tent. God knows long we’re going to have to live in it, and my standards cleanliness are somewhat higher than those of our British friends here,” Hanging his ugly head sheepishly, Collier sat down and gan to struggle out of the ungainly footwear, speaking all while. “This place, those camps, ugh . . . philologist’s dra Bass. I’ve just been in the camp of a squardron from Di moor, and they speak Cornish. Can you believe it, Bass, C nishr At last, big boots shed, he slid on his rump over Foster’s “table,” unholstering his long-barreled Luger. “I’d best clean this, too, I suppose. I fired four or rounds from it, back on the road, there.” Foster shook his head and said, “You should’ve used horsepistols, Bill. Save the Luger for dire emergencies; I told you and Webster that”

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Categories: Adams, Robert
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