Adventure stories; British -- Spain -- Fiction; Swordsmen -- Fiction
“Well now,” said he, “if you had so much as three pesetas in the world,
which you’ve not, I would wager that amount against you that if you
could obtain the ear of the duke--and even to do that you will have
to tread as warily as a young dog fox stealing down a hedgerow upon a
morning in October--he will either pull your ears or cut your throat
when you mention his daughter. Why, if he hath a miniard goodly wench
with a rounded chin and a neat ankle, hath she no suitors, varlet? Are
there no princes and noblemen and foreigners of consideration, with the
blood of kings under their doublets, to woo this piece of the rib of
Adam? Would they not come to this castle with the blowing of horns and
the waving of banners, with companies of soldiers wearing their livery?
Think of the valour of their performances, good varlet; the treasure
in their chests; the breadth of their dominions. And then Master Don
What-does-he-call-himself--a country youth with his shoes clouted by
the village cobbler, a very beggar without a dole in his wallet, a raw
Hodge or bumpkin, as we say in our direct English parlance, with a pair
of hose too small in the shank and a coat laced with steel already past
its meridian--this mad fellow comes forward and speaks to the duke of
his daughter! If I do not die of a fluxion, may I forget the savour of
burnt sack!”
Now though I was so derided by the Englishman, he had so poor an
opinion of all persons, with one notable exception, that I did not pay
him that heed which perhaps I ought to have done. Yet I will confess
that the higher we ascended the steep road that wound in and out to the
gate of the castle, the more was my mind engaged by the notion that his
words had made to take shape in it; for he knew the world famously,
and there might be sooth in what he said, since, after all, I had only
my pedigree, good as it was, and a stout heart to recommend me to the
duke’s service.
As we rode up into the shadow of those walls, that were now sheer and
massive over our heads, Sir Richard Pendragon bent towards me and
said,--
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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