The Armourer's PrenticesYonge, Charlotte M. (Charlotte Mary)
History
The Armourer's Prentices
Yonge, Charlotte M. (Charlotte Mary)
Great Britain -- History -- Henry VIII, 1509-1547 -- Fiction
And _site_, with a sweet smile in her soft, dark, shady eyes, and on her
full lips, held the cup to his lips far more daintily and dexterously
than either of his boy companions could have done; then when he moaned
and said his head and eye pained him, the white-bearded elder came and
bathed his brow with the soft sponge. It seemed all to pass before him
like a dream, and it was not much otherwise with his unhurt companions,
especially Stephen, who followed with wonder the movements made by the
slippered feet of father and daughter upon the mats which covered the
stone flooring of the old stable. The mats were only of English rushes
and flags, and had been woven by Abenali and the child; but loose rashes
strewing the floor were accounted a luxury in the Forest, and even at
the Dragon court the upper end of the hall alone had any covering. Then
the water was heated, and all such other operations carried on over a
curious round vessel placed over charcoal; the window and the door had
dark heavy curtains; and a matted partition cut off the further stall,
no doubt to serve as Aldonza's chamber. Stephen looked about for
something to assure him that the place belonged to no wizard enchanter,
and was glad to detect a large white cross on the wall, with a holy-
water stoup beneath it, but of images there were none.
It seemed to him a long time before Master Headley's ruddy face, full of
anxiety, appeared at the door.
Blows were, of course, no uncommon matter; perhaps so long as no
permanent injury was inflicted, the master-armourer had no objection to
anything that might knock the folly out of his troublesome young inmate;
but Edmund had made him uneasy for the youth's eye, and still more so
about the quarters he was in, and he had brought a mattress and a couple
of men to carry the patient home, as well as Steelman, his prime
minister, to advise him.
He had left all these outside, however, and advanced, civilly and
condescendingly thanking the sword-cutler, in perfect ignorance that the
man who stood before him had been born to a home that was an absolute
palace compared with the Dragon court. The two men were a curious
contrast. There stood the Englishman with his sturdy form inclining,
with age, to corpulence, his broad honest face telling of many a civic
banquet, and his short stubbly brown grizzled beard; his whole air
giving a sense of worshipful authority and weight; and opposite to him
the sparely made, dark, thin, aquiline-faced, white-bearded Moor, a far
smaller man in stature, yet with a patriarchal dignity, refinement, and
grace in port and countenance, belonging as it were to another sphere.
Speaking English perfectly, though with a foreign accent, Abenali
informed Master Headley that his young kinsman would by Heaven's
blessing soon recover without injury to the eye, though perhaps a scar
might remain.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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