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
"He instructs me that herein is set down the merchant's commerce with
one Mendoza, a wool-stapler of Antwerp, and a Jew, who despite the
scandal of his unbelief, is, as appeareth plainly, an honest man. I
pray you, sir, follow me," said she, and directed him to the page, "to
the end you may correct me if I be in error."
I never saw a man's countenance fall so as the Captain's did then; who
having formerly stood so stiff upon his right, was now ready to
compound upon almost any terms; only Idonia would not, but interrupted
his pish's, and his well-well's, and go-to's, with a clear exposition
of the whole matter of wool, the while I, her supposed tutor, stood by
with open mouth and a heart charged with admiration of her wit.
"Enough," shouted the Captain, at last. "I came not hither for this,
as you know, mistress, who are either the completest accountant or else
the prettiest wanton this side Bridewell Dock. Halberdiers, have a
care!" cried he, and so returning to them with a curse, marshalled them
into a body and would have withdrawn them forthwith, when a cry from
one of the chambers aloft suddenly sounding out, he ordered them again
to stand to their arms and ran forward to the foot of the stairs. I
chanced to look at Idonia then, and blessed Heaven that her examination
was done, and all eyes save mine averted from her, for she shook like
one in a palsy and staggered backward to the wall. I had bare leisure
to follow her thither and support her, before the whole troop of those
that had gone above returned down, bearing along with them in their
midst a man whom they held, or rather dragged along with them, so
without strength was he, and all aghast.
"A good capture," said the Captain in his slow, cruel voice, and bade
the guard stand back from the abject fellow, but be ready to prevent
his escape. "I thought not to have had so fair a fortune," said he,
"although our information was exact enough that you lay here, Master
Jesuit, whom I believe to be (and require you to answer to it) that
notorious Jacques de Courcy, by some called Father Jacques, a Frenchman
and plotting Jesuit."
"I am a poor schoolmaster of Norfolk," said the man, very humbly.
"Do you deny you are this Courcy, and a devilish Papist?" asked the
Captain again.
The prisoner looked around wildly, as if he hoped even now to get free,
but the ring about him was too close for that, and the pikes all
levelled at his breast. Something of the dignity which despair will
throw over a man that hath come into the extreme of peril, sustained
him mercifully then, so that he who was before but a pitiful shrinking
coward, became (and so remained to the end) a figure not all unmeet to
the part he played.
"Were I to recite my creed," said he very low, "you would but make mock
of it; while for yourself, I see you be already minded to work your
will upon me."
"We go no further than our Prince commands us," said the other loftily.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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