Historical fiction, Scottish; Scotland -- In literature
"I may not do so, valiant sir," said the negro, laying aside an
impudent, half-gibing tone which he had hitherto made use of, and
betraying personal fear in his manner. "If you beat the poor slave to
death, you cannot learn what his master hath forbid him to tell. A
short walk will save your honour the stain, and yourself the trouble,
of beating what cannot resist, and me the pain of enduring what I can
neither retaliate nor avoid."
"Lead on then," said the Varangian. "Be assured thou shalt not fool me
by thy fair words, and I will know the person who is impudent enough to
assume the right of watching my motions."
The black walked on with a species of leer peculiar to his physiognomy,
which might be construed as expressive either of malice or of mere
humour. The Varangian followed him with some suspicion, for it happened
that he had had little intercourse with the unhappy race of Africa, and
had not totally overcome the feeling of surprise with which he had at
first regarded them, when he arrived a stranger from the north. So
often did this man look back upon him during their walk, and with so
penetrating and observing a cast of countenance, that Hereward felt
irresistibly renewed in his mind the English prejudices, which assigned
to the demons the sable colour and distorted cast of visage of his
conductor. The scene into which he was guided, strengthened an
association which was not of itself unlikely to occur to the ignorant
and martial islander.
The negro led the way from the splendid terraced walks which we have
described, to a path descending to the sea-shore, when a place
appeared, which, far from being trimmed, like other parts of the coast,
into walks of embankments, seemed, on the contrary, abandoned to
neglect, and was covered with the mouldering ruins of antiquity, where
these had not been overgrown by the luxuriant vegetation of the
climate. These fragments of building, occupying a sort of recess of the
bay, were hidden by steep banks on each side, and although in fact they
formed part of the city, yet they were not seen from any part of it,
and, embosomed in the manner we have described, did not in turn command
any view of the churches, palaces, towers, and fortifications, amongst
which they lay. The sight of this solitary, and apparently deserted
spot, encumbered with ruins, and overgrown with cypress and other
trees, situated as it was in the midst of a populous city, had
something in it impressive and awful to the imagination. The ruins were
of an ancient date, and in the style of a foreign people. The gigantic
remains of a portico, the mutilated fragments of statues of great size,
but executed in a taste and attitude so narrow and barbaric as to seem
perfectly the reverse of the Grecian, and the half-defaced
hieroglyphics which could be traced on some part of the decayed
sculpture, corroborated the popular account of their origin, which we
shall briefly detail.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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