Great Britain -- History -- 17th century -- Fiction; Historical fiction
Suddenly a face looked in upon me, and a loud strident voice cried out
in a tongue which I scarce fully understood. The purport of its words
was that the sick man was awake and looking about him. In a minute the
babel was stilled, and I heard a woman’s voice giving orders. Then some
one came to me with a basin of soup.
"Drink, lad," said she; "ye’ve had a geyan close escape but a’ is richt
wi’ ye noo. Tak this and see how ye feel."
The woman was tall and squarely built like a man; indeed, I cannot think
that she was under six feet. Her face struck me with astonishment, for I
had seen no woman for many a day since Marjory’s fair face, and the
harsh commanding features of my nurse seemed doubly strange. For dress
she wore a black hat tied down over her ears with a ’kerchief, and
knotted in gipsy fashion beneath her chin. Her gown was of some
dark-blue camlet cloth, and so short that it scarce reached her knees,
though whether this fashion was meant for expedition in movement or
merely for display of gaudy stockings, I know not. Certainly her
stockings were monstrously fine, being of dark blue flowered with
scarlet thread, and her shoon were adorned with great buckles of silver.
Her outer petticoat was folded so as to make two large pockets on either
side, and in the bosom of her dress I saw a great clasp-knife.
I drank the soup, which was made of some wild herbs known only to the
gipsy folk, and lay back on my couch.
"Now, sleep a wee, lad," said the woman, "and I’ll warrant ye’ll be as
blithe the morn as ever."
I slept for some hours, and when I awoke sure enough I felt mightily
strengthened. It was now eventide and the camp-fire had been made
larger to cook the evening meal. As I looked forth I could see men
squatting around it, broiling each his own piece of meat in the ashes,
while several cauldrons sputtered and hissed on the chains. It was a
wild, bustling sight, and as I lay and watched I was not sorry that I
had fallen into such hands. For I ever loved to see new things and
strange ways, and now I was like to have my fill.
They brought me supper, a wild duck roasted and coarse home-made bread,
and a bottle of very tolerable wine, got I know not whence unless from
the cellars of some churlish laird. I ate it heartily, for I had fasted
long in my sickness, and now that I was recovered I had much to make up.
Then the woman returned and asked me how I did. I told her, "Well," and
thanked her for her care, asking her how I had been rescued and where I
was. And this was the tale she told me.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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