Historical fiction; Inquisition -- Fiction; Spain -- History -- Ferdinand and Isabella, 1479-1516 -- Fiction
Isabella had followed her husband to the hall, and been a quiet but
penetrative observer of all that followed. She had started as the
voice of the novice met her ear, and made a few hasty steps forward;
but then checked herself, and quietly watched the proceedings of the
soldiers. Perceiving how wholly ineffectual their efforts appeared,
she advanced towards them. With the most reverential affection the
men made way for her. They had been so accustomed to see her on the
battle-field, tending the wounded and the dying, soothing their
anguish and removing their cares, ay, and more than once doing the
same kindly office in their rude and lowly homes, that her appearance
and gentle tending of the boy, excited no surprise whatever. She
motioned them all back, apparently to allow a free current of air--in
reality, to prevent them from adopting her own suspicions; she did not
remove the somewhat unusually tightly-secured hood; but for her, one
glance on that white and chiselled face was sufficient. Her skill
was at length successful, and with the first symptom of returning
animation, she left him to the soldiers, and joined the throng around
the King; but her eye, which from long use, appeared literally endowed
with power to take in every desired object, however separated, at one
glance, still watched him as he painfully endeavored to rise, and
threw one searching glance towards the principal group. His eyes
rested a full minute on the prisoner, with an expression which
Isabella alone, perhaps, of all in that hall, could read. A momentary
crimson flushed his cheek, and then his face was bowed in his
spread hands, and his slight frame shook, with the fervor of the
thanksgiving, which his whole soul outpoured.
Perceiving that the lad had recovered his senses, Perez referred all
the eager questioners to him, feeling so bewildered at the marvellous
transformation of himself, in his own opinion, from, an ignorant
rustic, who had never seen the interior of a town, to the permitted
companion of his sovereign and his nobles, and even of Isabella, and
he received from her lips a few words of kindly commendation, that
it was almost an effort to speak; and he longed to rush back to his
village and astound them all, and still more, triumph over his friend,
the hostellerie-keeper, who, lord it as he might, had never been so
honored.
"Come hither, boy," said Ferdinand kindly; and the novice slowly and
with evident reluctance obeyed. "We could almost wish thy tastes had
pointed elsewhere than the church, that our acknowledgments of thy
exertions in our service might be more substantial than mere thanks;
however, thy patron saint shall not want a grateful offering. Nay, our
presence is surely not so terrible that thou shouldst tremble thus,
poor child! Hast thou aught more to communicate?--aught for our
private ear, or that of her Highness our consort? If not, we will not
exhaust thy little strength by useless questions."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account