Adventure stories; British -- Spain -- Fiction; Swordsmen -- Fiction
The Countess Sylvia having condescended to inform her vassals of this
fact, together with many others that the English giant interpolated
into her discourse, somewhat to her impatiency, on matters touching
his many and surprising deeds by sea and land, the magnificence of
his talents and his ancestry, and diverse things of a like character,
he was able at last to bring himself to do her bidding. And you must
believe me, reader, it was one of the bravest sights in the world to
see these fierce men-at-arms, clad in bright steel, defile before the
palfrey of their mistress, and swear their devotion upon the good sword
she held so staunchly in her hand.
CHAPTER XVII
OF OUR ATTENDANCE IN COUNCIL UPON A GREAT MATTER
WHEN at last this gallant function had come to an end, and madam’s
servants and retainers had been duly sworn and dismissed with goodwill,
and even enthusiasm, upon their side, and a deal of majesty upon hers,
she and her three chief officers--although for one of them, by name Don
Miguel Jesus Maria de Sarda y Boegas, neither emolument nor employ had
been found up to this present--repaired from the heat of the sun to the
coolness of a chamber within the castle to partake of wine and other
refreshment.
“An it please you, madam, it might not come amiss,” said the Count of
Nullepart, “if in my capacity of master of the treasury I ventured to
propose that his lordship’s grace and his trusty fat man be disinterred
from their present situation, which, saving the presence of your
ladyship, may not be without its ignominy.”
“That is well spoken, friend,” said the Countess Sylvia. “Page. Where
is this page of ours? What, have we no page? Come hither, page! Page,
go you to the master armourer, and bid him, as he esteems his place,
to send his smiths immediately to unseal the door of his lordship’s
grace.”
“And of his trusty fat man,” said the Count of Nullepart.
“And of his trusty fat man,” said our mistress; “although that fat man
is so foolish as a dish of butter.”
“Touching my emoluments,” said Sir Richard Pendragon, eating his meat
almost as grossly as he did in the inn; “touching my emoluments,
countess, madam, and ladyship, it has entered my mind that it would
accord with my merit if in addition to my other honours I received the
more signal one of mastership of your ladyship’s treasury.”
“Peace, Sirrah Red Dragon,” said his mistress sternly; “and do you
endeavour to eat your roast pig like a Christian gentleman. Endeavour,
sirrah, to imitate the courteous delicacy in his feeding of the
worshipful Count of Nullepart. But peace, I say, for I would engage
the officers of my household upon a great affair. This castle is in
peril. I do fear that the rude Castilian and all his men will soon be
knocking on the gate. Would you have me dig pits and lay snares, Sirrah
Red Dragon, for you are our man of war? We have but three hundred
men-at-arms, and our villainous cousin will reckon his host by the
thousand.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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