A Gentleman-at-Arms: Being Passages in the Life of Sir Christopher Rudd, KnightStrang, Herbert
History
A Gentleman-at-Arms: Being Passages in the Life of Sir Christopher Rudd, Knight
Strang, Herbert
Adventure stories; Great Britain -- History -- Elizabeth, 1558-1603 -- Juvenile fiction
"How now, sirrah!" I cried to him as he rode among us. "Art deaf, that
thou didst not hear my command, or a mere addle-pate, to go alone into
the midst of a host?" And I rated him very roundly, I do assure you.
The man said not a whit in his proper defence, but pled that being at
the very heels of a Spaniard who had dealt hardly with him in the fight,
he could not endure to leave him without giving him a Roland for his
Oliver. The chase was longer than his expectation; and the Spaniard,
seeing him persistent, on a sudden wheeled about and met him face to
face. They two fought it out, and after a long and laboursome bout,
whereof Temple bore many eloquent and grievous tokens, he overcame his
adversary and made his quietus.
And then he displayed before me the spoils of this engagement, to wit, a
fine Toledo blade; a belt of good Cordovan leather, the pouch filled
with Spanish dollars; and a jewelled ring of gold. And when I had told
him that he might keep these for himself, he brought forth from under
his belt a strip of paper, and put it into my hand.
"This I espied, sir," he said, "through a rent in the don’s doublet, and
seeing there was writing thereupon, being no scholar myself, I fished it
out for your worship’s perusal."
Thinking ’twas some love billet that the hapless Spaniard had worn
against his heart, I was in a manner loth to take it. But I bethought
myself directly after that in time of war it behoves a man to suspect
all and trust none, and in this mind I spread open the paper and bent my
eyes upon it. And then I was not a little discontented at the
meagreness of what I read. ’Twas nothing but a table of stores, writ in
the Spanish tongue: so many tubs of powder, so many chests of the same,
so many spare pikes, so many double bullets for the calivers, so many
bullets for the matchlocks, so many round shot for the sakers and
culverins—in truth, I did not read every article, being persuaded that
the fellow from whom the paper was taken was some pitiful storekeeper, a
man of no account. Yet I stowed it within my doublet, from a mere habit
of prudence, and rode on, telling the man Temple jestingly that my share
of the booty was paltry by comparison with his.
*II*
It was dark when I came to my lodging, and learnt from my servant that
Sir Francis Vere, some while before, had sent to seek me. I made haste
to attend the general, whom I found alone at his supper.
"Ha, Rudd," he cried to me in his great voice, "I am glad to see thee,
lad." (He was but ten years my elder, but let that pass.) "How hast
fared?"
I rehearsed very shortly the particulars of my excursion, and those few
matters I had learnt of the Dutchman; but held my peace as touching the
paper Temple had given me, deeming that to be of no moment. Sir Francis
made me compliments on my good hap in coming off with a whole skin, and
then, bidding me share his meal, pushed a letter over the table towards
me.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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