Idonia: A Romance of Old LondonWallis, Arthur Frederick
History
Idonia: A Romance of Old London
Wallis, Arthur Frederick
Great Britain -- History -- Elizabeth, 1558-1603 -- Fiction; London (England) -- Fiction
"I remember him very well," answered the warden, while his wife
whispered me that he had the finest pair of grey eyes you did ever see.
"I have received certain news of him but this very day," continued the
yeoman, "which hath quite taken away my peace, and set my mind amidst
perilous thoughts."
"A mercy on us!" cried the woman, starting up from the table; "what
words be these, master sergeant?"
"He hath turned Turk," said the yeoman, in a thick voice.
"As being enforced thereto, God help him!" said Mr. Nelson; but his
brother shook his head.
"'Twas his own will to do so," he said, and rose from the bench;
whereupon we all rose too, though without well knowing wherefore, save
that we were strangely affected by his narrative. The yeoman went over
to the corner where his great pike rested, and returning thence with
it, he stood for some while quite still and upright (in such posture as
a soldier doth upon guard), his eyes upon the bright fire which threw
the distorted huge shadow of him against the ceiling. At the last, in
a small voice, as though he spake not to us, he said--
"From my youth I have been known for a God-fearing man, and one not
given over to lightness. To the Queen I pledged my faith once, and
have kept it. Had I so much as in one point failed of my word, I would
willingly and without extenuation answer the same. And no less have I
dealt with Heaven--faithfully, as befits a soldier. Then how comes it
that one born flesh of my flesh should do me this shame? Is it my
reward and wages for stout service? Nay, had Heaven a quarrel with me,
I would abide it. Had I defaulted, I should look to be punished in
mine own person. But to defame me through my son; to fasten the
reproach and scorn of a renegade upon me because he cowardly threw
aside his faith; I say I like not that, nor think not that Heaven hath
dealt with me as my captain would." He stayed his speech there quite
suddenly, and took up his black bonnet from the table, we all
marvelling the while, as much at his words as at the apostasy that had
occasioned them. But this speech that ensued, which was spoken with an
infinite simplicity as he was going, moved us who listened to him, I
think, more than all the rest. "And yet," said he, "there be armies in
heaven;" and with that he left us and went his way.
The evening being very chill we were glad enough of an excuse to build
up a cheerful great fire on the hearth, and to sit before it for
comfort, although in truth we were sad at heart and but little inclined
to conversation.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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