“Oh no, your worship,” he cried; “I would have you go upon your road. He is so prompt to violence that he will certainly slay you if you so much as show him your eyes.”
“That is as may be,” said I, taking a tighter grip upon my sword.
“Oh, your worship,” said the innkeeper, “I pray you use him tenderly. I beseech you be gentle of your discourse. He would pare the nails of the Cid. He fills the world with woes as easily as a she-ass fills a house with fleas.”
“You must obey me, innkeeper,” I said sternly, but without anger I hope, for the state of the poor fellow’s mind had moved me to pity. “You must remember that a caballero of my province is afeared only of God.”
The unlucky wight, finding that I was not to be gainsaid, led the way, with many misgivings, into his squalid house.
There was only one apartment for the service of guests. It was a poor one enough, with hardly anything in it except the lice on the walls and three candles which burned dismally. Such a hovel was only fit for the entertainment of pigs, cows, and chickens; yet it was not its quality that first awoke my attention. Neither was it the extremely singular personage that was seated at the side of the fire.
It was the delicious smell of cookery that filled the whole place. This proceeded out of a great seething pot that hung in the chimney. To one who had travelled all day nothing could have been more delectable. At its sight and odour my hunger began to protest fiercely, for my last piece of victual had been eaten at noon.
Seated on a low stool, as near to the pot as he might venture without being scorched in the legs, I found the author of these grievances. His gaze was riveted upon this delicious kettle. His enormous limbs were outstretched across the hearth, a rare cup of liquor was beside his stool, and so earnestly was he gazing at the meat as it tossed and hissed in the cauldron that upon my entrance he did not stir, but, without so much as removing his chin from his hands, continued in his occupation with an air of approval and expectancy.
For myself, I honoured him with a long and grave look. Since that distant evening in my youth I have met with many chances and adventures in my travels. I have fallen in with persons of all kinds—the virtuous, the wicked, and those who are neither one nor the other. I have broken bread with princes, philosophers, rogues, slaves, and men of the sword—men of all nations and of every variety of fortune-yet I believe never one so remarkable as he who now kept the chimney of this wretched venta upon a three-legged stool. The length of his limbs was extraordinary; his shoulders were those of a giant; and even in his present careless and recumbent attitude he wore an uncommonly sinister and formidable look.
His dress at one time would scarcely have come amiss to a prince, yet now it was barely redeemed from that of a beggar. The original colour of his doublet, which hung in tatters, was an orange tawny, but it was now so soiled and rent that it could have stood for any hue one cared to name. His cloak, which hung upon the wall, was of a bright blue camlet, and was but little superior to the condition of his doublet. Purple silk had once formed the substance of his hose, but now the better part of it was cloth, having suffered many patchings with that material. Added to such conspicuous marks of indigence, his long yellow riding boots were split in pieces, one even revealed the toe of a worsted stocking; whilst his scabbard was in such case as it sprawled on the ground beside his leg that the naked point was visible.