Mad Martin he was called, and he was known and loved in all the
villages for miles round Aylingford. He and his fiddle brought mirth to
many a simple festival, and in time of trouble it was strange how
helpful were the words and presence of this madman. Martin Fairley was
not as other men, the village folk said, he was not sane and ordinary as
they were, he was to be pitied, and must often be treated as a wayward
child. Yet there were times when he seemed to see visions, when the
invisible spirits of that world with which he was in touch whispered
into his ear things of which men knew nothing. He was suddenly endowed
with knowledge above his fellows, and the whole aspect of the man
changed. At such times the villagers were a little afraid of him and
spoke under their breath of magic and the black art. Even Sir John
Lanison was not free from this fear of his strange dependent. He never
spoke roughly to him, never checked him, never questioned his goings and
comings. Sometimes, half-jestingly it seemed, he asked his advice, and
whatever Martin said was always considered. As often as not the advice
given took the form of a parable, and, no matter how absurd it sounded,
Sir John invariably tried to understand its meaning.
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