Great Britain -- History -- House of York, 1461-1485 -- Fiction
"'Thou lookest strangely besmeared with mud. Didst thou git that with
chasin' of the dawg?' sez he, and he oyed me loike the divil.
"'Uh! sure, yer honour, Oi was jist a gittin off o' moy horse whin Oi
saw the baste inter,' sez Oi.
"'And whare moight you have bin on thoy horse?' sez he.
"'Whoy, upon his back, sor,' sez Oi.
"'Nay, nay,' sez he, 'Oi mane from whare didst thou roide to-day, fer
from thoy looks thou hast bin beyond the city gates?'
"'Yis, yer honour,' sez Oi, 'thou hast found me out; but Oi pray thee
do not report me to moy master, whin he returns.'
"'And who is thoy master?' sez he.
"'Sor Walter Bradley, and it playze yer honour,' sez Oi.
"Now methought, sor, that this would put him off the scint; fer by the
close way he quistioned me Oi filt sure he must be on it. But whin Oi
mintioned thoy name, sor, he wint into a divil of a timper, indade he
did, yer honour. And thin he turned on me and called me sich avil
names as made it hard fer me to hould back moy hand from brakin' the
head o' the spalpeen; fer indade, sor, he is no gintlemin, with all his
foine airs, and knoight though he be."
"And what said he of me?" I asked. "Surely he had a bad word for me."
"Uh! yer honour, Oi would not repate his insults fer the wourld.
Indade its ashamed o' moysilf Oi am fer not crackin' his skull with moy
fist, fer what he said o' thee. The raison Oi did not, was because Oi
feared to do it without thoine order. Do but say the wourd and he is a
corpse, sor."
"No, do the knave no harm, Michael; for it should but cause thy death.
Indeed thou art right, he is a disgrace to knighthood; still, he is a
friend of my Lord Hastings, whose vengeance would fall on thee."
"Sure methinks his lordship should thank me fer riddin' him o' sich a
noosance," said Michael, with a shrug of his shoulders which clearly
showed his contempt for Catesby.
"But did he question thee any further?" I asked.
"Did he quistion me anny further, yer honour? Hivins, sor! Oi should
think he did that same," said Michael with a force that left no room
for doubt in my mind.
"'Uh!' sez he, whin he had stopped his foul talk about thee, sor; 'Oi
belave thou hast jist ridden from Northampton, thou villain,' sez he;
as though he had anny roight to call an honest man a villain, But
thin, mayhap he gits other folks mixed up with hissilf, whin he gits
excoited loike," added Michael with prodigious solemness.
I was compelled to laugh, despite the anxiety I felt about this matter.
"'Northampton?' sez Oi, in surprise loike, as though Oi had nivir heard
o' sich a place.
"'Didst thou not roide from Ludlow to Northampton with the King?" sez
he.
"'From whare, sor?' sez Oi.
"'From Ludlow, thou stoopid varlet,' sez he; and he raised his hand as
though he filt loike hittin' me a blow on the ear.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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