Adventure stories; British -- Spain -- Fiction; Swordsmen -- Fiction
As I approached this aged creature I saw she had an eye which seemed
to ask an alms yet did disdain it; and this war of pride and necessity
in a poor beggar woman, halt and lean, led me to consider that she was
not of the common sort, but had had a birth perhaps, and upon a day
had known the cushions of prosperity. And this fancy moved my heart
indeed, for in my view there is no more pitiful sight in nature than a
blood Arab so broken in his wind and circumstances as to be condemned
to base employments. There were only ten crowns in my purse, but its
strings were untied before I could consider of my private need. Bowing
to her as solemnly as if she had been the daughter of a marquis--and
who shall say that she was not?--I begged her to accept a tenth part of
my inheritance.
She received this invitation with those shy eyes that so much enhance
her sex; while such confusion overcame the gentle soul that a minute
passed before her faltering hand could draw a coin from the bag I held
before her.
I went on my way with no more than nine crowns in my possession. Now,
it is no light thing, believe me, reader, for a youth of one-and-twenty
to adventure into an unknown country, upon a quest of fortune on a
mountain horse, in the company of a sword of an ancient pattern, a
leather jerkin laced with steel, a hat without a feather, and the sum
of nine crowns, neither more nor less, for the whole of his estate.
I had set the nose of Babieca in the direction of the south. At first
my way was taken through a pleasant country of great hills, that had
cork trees on their slopes. Here and there little rivers ran in and
out; sparkling in the morning sun; shining on the side of some tall
mountain; circling round the foot of some grave precipice. But as the
morning passed, and as hour by hour I went farther from my native
hills, the nature of the land was changed. The cool woods and streams,
the rich green pastures, and the fine tall hills with their garlands of
dark forests yielded to a barren plain, to which, alas! there appeared
to be no end. It was bare and arid, and strewn in many places with
sharp rocks. There was not a tree, not a stream of water; and such
horrid quantities of sand consumed it that it became at last a desert
whose life was sterile. A few barren shrubs were the only things that
grew there; and, as I was soon to learn, an infinite degree of misery.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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