The Camp of Refuge: A Tale of the Conquest of the Isle of ElyMacFarlane, Charles
History
The Camp of Refuge: A Tale of the Conquest of the Isle of Ely
MacFarlane, Charles
Great Britain -- History -- Medieval period, 1066-1485 -- Fiction
with that steel cap on his head, and that scarlet cloak over his
shoulders, he looks every inch as stalwart and as handsome a warrior as
the archangel Michael, whose portraiture we see in our church!”
The person nearest in attendance on Lord Hereward was that lucky wight
Elfric, who had been to seek him in foreign parts; but it was Elfric no
longer attired either as a tattered menestrel or as a shaveling novice,
but as something betwixt a blithesome page and an armed retainer. He
too had more than one tear of joy in his eye as he trod upon the shore;
but this tender emotion soon gave way to a hearty if not boisterous
mirth, and so he kept shouting, “Make way for Hereward the Lord of
Brunn!” and kept squeezing the hands of all the men and women and
children he knew in Lynn, as they walked towards the convent where
Hereward was to rest until daylight. Next to Elfric, the man that
seemed most entirely devoted to the service and to the person of
Hereward was a slight, slim man of middle stature and very dark
complexion; his hair was long, and would have been blacker than the
plumage of the raven save that time had touched it here and there with
grey; his nose was arched like the beak of a goshawk; and his eye, that
looked out from under a very black and bushy but very lofty eyebrow,
was blacker and keener than the eye of any hawk or other fowl of prey.
Some who had seen now and then a wandering Israelite, thought that this
stranger looked marvellously like a Jew; but this was a marvellous
mistake. None could think him either young or handsome; yet was there
something about his person and in his face that none could help looking
at, and then remembering for aye. Among the stout Saxons were some that
could have taken the dark, slim stranger between their finger and
thumb, and have squeezed the life out of him with as much ease as boys
crack nuts; but there was a quickness and sharpness in the stranger’s
eye that seemed to say he could outwit them all if he chose. On the way
to the convent Hereward several times addressed him in some foreign
tongue, and seemed by his looks to be taking advice of him.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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