“These men speak no English,” says he, “and I have many things to ask of ye that I’d fain know, so with your pleasure we’ll discourse awhile. May I ask whether ye would be son to Sir Harry Carlyon, that once led the king’s forces in the West Country?”
“Seignior,” says I, greatly surprised, yet willing to be civil to this agreeable person, “Sir Harry Carlyon is my father.”
“Well met, then!” said he, “though I’d be glad to have had it in a better place. Your good father did me a kindness once, and sure I’ll not forget it. I hope Sir Harry is in good health, sir?”
“He was well when he writ to me last,” says I. “But pray, seignior, pardon my boldness in asking where you gat acquainted with my father. Was it in the wars of Germany?”
“Nay, ’twas in the wars of England,” says he. “The history on’t I’ll tell you another time, but advertise me now how matters are going under King Charles II., in Ireland especially.”
I perceived then that this person’s outlandish talk was all after the manner of the Irish, and after I had told him something of that which he desired to know, I learned that his name was Thigue O’Leary, but that in religion he was called Padree Deodoro, which in our tongue is Father Theodorus. Also he was good enough to testify great goodwill towards me, and to say that he hoped he should see me from time to time, for which (says he cheerfully) there will be opportunity enough before ye leave this place.
“For I see,” says he to me, “that ye are a lively youth, and mighty nimble with your tongue too. Sure I nearly laughed outright to hear ye calling down wrath on their lordships just now. And the cunning of ye! How did ye know that there was a poor Irishman here, dying for a man to talk to, when ye pretended not to understand the Inquisidor’s Latin?”
“I han’t heard any Latin, sir,” said I. “His lordship spoke to me in the Italian, as I believed.”
“Italian!” cried Father Theodorus, winking upon me with his eye, “sure ’twas mighty ancient Italian; like this, wan’t it?” and he pronounced some words, so that I saw that what I had taken for Italian was but Latin, spoken in their barbarous and Papistical fashion, as I had before heard it from Dom Lewis. But the Padree continued to believe that I had spoken falsely, and had denied my knowledge with the intent to gain some advantage.
“But pray, sir,” says I, seeing that he would not believe me, “tell me how long I must stay in this place?”