The Prisoner by James Darke

Author:James Darke [Darke, James]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
ISBN: 9780722151204
Publisher: Sphere Books
Published: 1984-01-02T00:00:00+00:00

When he woke he felt a little better. He opened his eyes cautiously and saw something out of the oddest of dreams. There was the first light of the false dawn illuminating a clearing in a forest. The fire he recalled from before still burned well, and there was still the faint scent of the cooked rabbit. Through the oaks he could make out the bay shape of his mare.

But none of that caught his eye like the figure who knelt by the fire, looking gravely in his direction.

‘Am I woken?’ asked John.

‘Aye.’

‘And . . . and are you black as ebony?’

The man nodded, smiling, showing a great cavern of gleaming white teeth. Ferris blinked and sighed. ‘Then I am truly woken. . . but I am greatly confused.’

‘Will you eat, Captain Ferris?’

‘Captain no longer. But I would be most pleased to break my fast. The sickness has passed and I am somewhat better.’

‘I shall give you a. little of the stew. But not too much on an empty stomach.’

‘I am most ravenous. I feel as if I have eaten naught for a week.’

‘Only a night and a day and another night, Master Ferris.’

It took a few moments for the blackamoor’s words to sink in.

‘What?’

‘You slept with that blow to your pate. Slept most of the first night. Woke for a while. And slept all the next day and night.’

‘And you . . . you stayed here with me, Master . . .? I do not know even your name. God’s wounds but I owe you my life and I. . .‘

The black handed him a tin plate filled with rich stew, and a horn spoon. Calming him with a smile. ‘Easy, Master Ferris. Easy. I will tell you something of what came about while you break your fast.’

‘Your name, first.’

‘York. Brutus York.

He was the second black only that John Ferris had seen in his life. The first had been a negro dwarf in the service of Lord Fisher of Maxwell. His name had been ‘Antonio’ he recalled.

‘Give me your hand, Brutus York, and know that you have a friend for life in John Ferris of Hertford.’

The man was immensely powerful. As tall as John, but broader built, with a handclasp that felt as if it could shatter marble.

The rabbit smelled delicious and he set to, nearly burning his lips on the first mouthful. Pausing only to ask the black to tell him something of himself, and of what had come to pass two nights ago.

‘I was captured in Africa by a Portuguee slaver, when but a child. That was some nineteen years ago. He sold me to a Serbian merchant who sold me

to a chandler from Dieppe. From there I passed to a countess in Copenhagen. She used me well. Still a slave, but master of her in the night.’ Again that engaging grin.

Ferris had heard stories of the vast size of the, privy member of the black males, and he guessed what Brutus’ tasks had been for this titled lady.

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