Great Britain -- History -- 17th century -- Fiction; Historical fiction
From him I learned something more of the condition of my own land, and
it was worse even than I had feared. M. de Rohaine had had many strange
adventures in it, but he seemed to shrink from speaking of himself and
his own affairs. There was in his eyes a look of fixed melancholy as of
one who had encountered much sorrow in his time and had little hope for
more happiness in the world. Yet withal he was so gracious and noble in
presence that I felt I was in the company of a man indeed.
If I were to tell all the benefit I derived from this man I should fill
a volume and never reach the end of my tale. Suffice it to say that
from him I learned many of the tricks of sword play, so that soon I
became as nigh perfect in the art as it was ever in my power to be. I
learned too of other lands where he had been and wars which he had
fought; and many tales which I have often told at home in Tweeddale I
first heard from his lips. I was scarce ever out of his company, until
one day he received a letter from a kinsman bidding him return on urgent
necessity. He made his farewells to me with great regret, and on
parting bade me count on his aid if I should ever need it. From that
day to this I have never cast eyes on his face or heard tidings of him,
but I herewith charge all folk of my family who may read this tale, if
ever it be their fortune to meet with one of his name or race, that they
befriend him to the best of their power, seeing that he did much
kindness to me.
So the summer passed with one thing and another, till, ere I knew,
winter was upon us. And I would have you know that winter in the Low
Countries is very different from winter with us among the hills of
Tweed. For here we have much mist and rain and a very great deal of
snow; also the cold is of a kind hard to endure, since it is not of the
masterful, overbearing kind, but raw and invidious. But there the frost
begins in late autumn and keeps on well till early spring. Nor was
there in my experience much haze or rain, but the weather throughout the
months was dry and piercing. Little snow fell, beyond a sprinkling in
the fore-end of January. Every stream and pond, every loch and canal
was hard and fast with ice, and that of the purest blue colour and the
keenest temper I have ever seen. All the townsfolk turned out to
disport themselves on the frozen water, having their feet shod with
runners of steel wherewith they performed the most wondrous feats of
activity. The peasant-girls going to market with their farm produce
were equipped with these same runners, and on them proceeded more
quickly than if they had ridden on the highroad.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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