MY FAITHFUL WATCH-DOG
I
Some two hours later--in a long, low, vaulted room which was the
refectory of the convent of the Sisters of St. Agneten--some two
thousand men were assembled. They sat on wooden benches all round the
two huge, horseshoe-shaped tables at which the Sisters were wont to take
their meals. The room was situate on the ground floor of the convent
building, and a row of low, groined windows ran the whole length of one
of the walls; heavy curtains hung before all the windows, and portieres
were drawn over the doors at either end, both in order to deaden all
sound and to prevent all light from showing without. Tallow candles
burned in tall pewter candelabra at intervals upon the tables.
The bulk of the men who were there were young--or at any rate still in
the prime of life, strong and well-knit in figure--the sort of men whom
any leader would be glad to enrol as soldiers under his banner; but
there were others among them who were grave and elderly--like Messire
Deynoot, the Procurator-General, and the Baron van Grobbendock, chief
financial adviser on the Town Council. Messire Pierre van Overbeque,
Vice-Bailiff of Ghent, was also there, as well as Messires Lievin van
Deynse, the wealthy brewer at the sign of the "Star of the North" in the
Nieuwpoort, Laurence van Rycke, son of the High-Bailiff, and Frederic
van Beveren, wardmaster of the Guild of Armourers; and there were a good
many others--gentlemen of substance and consideration in the town.
At this moment every one of those two thousand men were keeping their
eyes fixed upon one who alone was standing under the dais at the end of
the refectory where the abbess of the convent usually had her place.
This portion of the room was raised two steps above the rest, and
standing there, the man who thus held the attention of all the others
looked abnormally tall, for he was dressed in doublet and hose of some
dark stuff which clung to him like a skin. His high boots reached well
over his thighs, his head was closely shrouded in a hood, and his face
was hidden by a mask, made of untanned leather--which left the mouth
only quite free.
"His Highness the Prince of Orange, whom may God protect," he was saying
in a loud, clear voice which rang out from end to end of the room, "was
fortunately able to furnish me with all your names and places of abode.
With the help of Messire van Deynse, who lent us his horses, and Messire
Laurence van Rycke and Frederic van Beveren, who gave me their
assistance, we were able to communicate with you all during the night
and warn you of the imminent danger which hung over your heads."
"It was well done, friend Leatherface," said Messire Deynoot, "so well,
indeed, that we are all ready and willing to place ourselves under your
guidance and to accept you as our leader, for of a truth we know not
what we must do."
"Would to God," said the man whom they called Leatherface, "that I could
do more for you than the little which I have done. To each of you last
night I gave the same warning: 'Danger is nigh! terrible! imminent! for
our plans are discovered and the presence of the Prince of Orange in
Ghent known to the Duke of Alva! Let all those who wish to do so leave
the city at once with their wives and children, for death and torture
threatens those who remain!'"
"As you see, my dear friend," said Lievin van Deynse, the wealthy
brewer, quietly, "not one of us hath followed this portion of your
advice."
"You are all brave men and noble sons of Flanders," quoth Leatherface
earnestly. "His Highness is proud of you, he believes in you, he trusts
you. A cause which has such men as you for its champions and defenders
is assured of victory."
A murmur of satisfaction went round the room, and Leatherface resumed
after a little while:
"In the meanwhile, with the help of God, the precious person of the
Prince of Orange is safe."
A hearty cheer--quickly suppressed--greeted this announcement from every
side. "Unfortunately," continued Leatherface, "I could not persuade His
Highness to leave the city early this morning. He would not believe in
the danger which was threatening him.... He would not believe that his
plans and his presence here had been betrayed."
"Yes! betrayed!" now said one of the younger men vehemently, "and by
whom? Dost know by whom, friend Leatherface?"
And all around the tables, grimly set lips murmured:
"By whom? My God! by whom were we betrayed?"
And Laurence van Rycke's glowing eyes were fixed upon the man under the
canopy as if he would have torn the mask from off his face and read in
those mysterious eyes the confirmation of his own horrible fears.
And Leatherface, looking straight into Laurence's pale and haggard face,
said slowly:
"By one who hath already paid the full price for all the misery which
that betrayal will bring in its wake."
"Dead?" came in awed yet eager query from most of them there.
Leatherface bent his head, but gave no direct reply, and all of them
there were satisfied, for they believed that the faithful and wary
watch-dog--justiciary as well as guardian angel--had discovered the
betrayer, and had killed him, making him pay the "full price" for all
the misery which he had brought about. Only Laurence hung his head and
dared not ask any more.
II
"And now tell us about the Prince," urged Messire van Overbeque, the
Vice-Bailiff. "Where is he now?"
"Well on his way to Bruegge, please God," replied the man with the
leather mask. "All day I had entreated him to go, but he refused to
listen. 'You dream of treachery,' he said to me, 'and see it where none
exists!' I spent the day scouting as far as Melle and Wetteren, for I
felt that nothing would convince him but actual facts. At four o'clock
in the afternoon the advance courier arrived from Alost. Luckily, his
horse was less swift than mine. I managed to gain on him and brought in
the news of the Duke of Alva's arrival to His Highness half an hour
before the commandant of the garrison knew of it."
"Even then it might have been too late," quoth one of the listeners.
"It very nearly was," retorted Leatherface light-heartedly. "Had the
Lieutenant-Governor sent advance orders that his arrival be kept a
secret until his troops passed through the city gates, the Prince of
Orange would still be in Ghent at this hour."
"Holy Virgin!" exclaimed Laurence van Rycke, "and what did you do?"
"His Highness donned doublet and hose of common buffle and pulled a
tattered felt hat well over his eyes, as did also the Count of
Hoogstraaten and young Count Mansfeld. I made myself look as like a
draper's assistant as I could, and then the four of us joined the crowd.
The rumour of the Duke's coming had spread all over the city; there were
plenty of gaffers about. All round by the Waalpoort they abounded, and
as the twilight slowly faded into dusk the approaches to the gate were
densely packed. No one was allowed to loiter round the guard-house or
upon the bridge, but there were many who, with overwhelming loyalty,
desired to greet the Duke of Alva even before he reached the confines of
the city. That was our opportunity. The commandant at the Waalpoort
happened to be in rare good humour; he thought the idea of meeting the
Lieutenant-Governor and his troops some way outside the city an
excellent one. He allowed those who wished, to go across the bridge.
The Prince of Orange, his two friends and I were merged in that crowd,
and no one took notice of us. Directly we reached Meirelbeke we struck
across the fields. In ten minutes we left the crowd a long way behind
us, and had skirted the town as far as Wondelghem. We were in no danger
then, but His Highness was greatly fatigued. There was a difficulty too
about getting horses; young Count Mansfeld was footsore and the Count of
Hoogstraaten perished with thirst. In short, it was six o'clock before
we had the horses ready, and I had the satisfaction of seeing the Prince
safely started on his way. When I returned it was close on eight, and
the city gates had all been locked."
He gave a light, good-humoured laugh, and one of the men asked: "Then
how did you get in?"
"I swam and I scaled the walls," he replied simply.
"But ... how?" asked another.
"Oh! I swim like a fish and climb like an ape...."
"But were you not seen?"
"Oh, yes! and shot at ... but the Spaniards are bad shots and ... I am
here."
Again he laughed gaily, light-heartedly like a 'prentice after an
escapade, and the two men who sat nearest him--the Procurator-General
and the Baron van Groobendock--surreptitiously took hold of his hand and
pressed it warmly.
III
"So much for the past, seigniors," resumed Leatherface, after awhile:
"my duty is done. I leave the planning of the future to wiser heads
than mine."
"No! no!" quoth the Vice-Bailiff emphatically. "Have we not said that
we want you to lead us?"
"I?" retorted the other gaily. "What do I know of leadership? I am
only His Highness' watch-dog. Let me follow a leader and bear my share
in the present trouble. I am not fit to command...."
A murmur went round the room, and the Procurator-General rejoined
earnestly: "The men will obey no one but you. Take off your mask,
friend, and let us all look upon the face of a man."
"You have all despised me too much in the past to heed my counsels now."
"There you spoke a lie, man," said Messire van Deynse, the brewer. "We
have all honoured the man whom we called Leatherface, as the bravest
amongst us all. We do not know who you are--we only know you as a
gallant gentleman to whom next to William of Orange himself we owe every
triumph which our cause hath gained over our execrated tyrants.
Therefore I pray you to unmask and let us know at least to whom--next to
God Himself--we owe the life of the noble Prince of Orange, and also to
whom we must look in future for guidance and leadership."
Once more the murmur went round the room: words of warm approval came
from every side, whilst among the younger men the cry was raised and
repeated insistently: "Unmask!"
"Unmask!" cried Laurence van Rycke. "Be you criminal or ne'er-do-well
in the eyes of others, you are a hero in our sight."
"Unmask! unmask!" they reiterated unanimously.
The man with the leather mask then advanced to the very edge of the
platform, and, putting up his hand, he asked for silence.
"Seigniors," he began, "I am your servant and will do as you wish. I
have told you that I am no leader and am not fit to command ... yet you
choose to honour me, and this is no time for false humility and the
diffidence which is the attribute of cowards. But--despite your
gracious choice of me as your leader in this terrible emergency--will
you ere you finally decide to follow me hear from me what plan I should
pursue, and to what heights of self-sacrifice I would ask you to rise in
the face of the awful calamity which threatens our city. Seigniors," he
continued, and indeed now save for the ring of that deep-toned voice, so
great was the silence in the vast refectory that every heart-beat might
have been heard, "you have heard the decree of our tyrant. Unless we
deliver to him the precious person of our noble Prince, the whole city
will be delivered over to the brutal soldiery, who will pillage our
houses, desecrate our churches, murder and outrage our wives, our
mothers and our children--just as they did in Mons, in Valenciennes and
in Mechlin. Seigniors, we are men--all of us here--and at thought of
what awaits us and our fellow-citizens our very heart blood seems to
freeze with horror. It is of our women that we must think and of our
children! Thank God that the Prince knows nothing of this decree--which
hath been framed by the most inhuman monster the world hath ever
known--or of a certainty he would have gone straight to the Kasteel and
given up his precious life to save our fellow-citizens. Seigniors, what
the Prince would have done, we know; and as he would have acted, so must
we be prepared to act. But before I parted from him, I had his advice
on the plan which I now beg leave to place before you. On my word of
honour, seigniors, he approved of it in its entirety, and much that I
will submit to you anon hath been framed under his guidance."
He paused awhile and through the holes in the mask his glowing eyes
searched the faces of his listeners with a masterful glance that was
both challenging and appealing.
"Every one of us here," he said abruptly, "is, I know, ready to
sacrifice his life for faith, for freedom and country, and ere we give
in to the monstrous tyranny which hath planned the destruction of our
city we must fight, seigniors, fight to the death, fight for every inch
of our ground, fight for every homestead which we would save from
outrage. Death awaits us all anyhow, then at any rate with God's help
let us die fighting to the end."
Once more he paused in order to draw breath, even whilst from every side
there came emphatic words of enthusiasm and of approval. He held his
hearers now in the hollow of his hand; they were unemotional, stolid men
for the most part, these Flemish burghers and patricians--men who
throughout the terrible oppression under which they had groaned for over
fifty years had grimly set their teeth and endured where others had
fought--because reason and common sense had shown the futility, the
irreparableness of the conflict--but they were men, too, who, once
roused to action, would never give in until they had won their fight or
had been destroyed to the last man of them; and with that inspiring
prophet standing there before them, stirring their sluggish blood with
his ringing voice, some of that same determination began to creep into
their bones which had animated valiant Orange and his brothers and his
Dutch followers to carry on the struggle for freedom at all costs and
with the last drop of their blood.
"We'll fight with you and under your standard, friend," said the
Procurator-General who was the spokesman of the others. "We are well
armed...."
"Aye! ye are well armed," rejoined Leatherface triumphantly. "The guild
of armourers are with us to a man; and we have been able to supplement
our secret stores with all the treasure in the magnificent armoury which
Messire van Beveren has placed at our disposal in the name of his guild.
Aye! we are well armed and well manned! There are two thousand of us,
seigniors, and our numbers will be doubled before noon to-morrow. The
Duke hath brought ten thousand soldiers with him! well! it will be a
three-to-one fight; but if we were still more completely outnumbered we
would still carry on the struggle, seeing that the lives of our children
and the honour of our women are at stake."
"We can fight," murmured one of the older men, "but we cannot conquer."
"No! we cannot conquer," said Leatherface earnestly. "We must perish,
because might is greater than right, unless God chooseth to perform a
miracle--and I, for one, still believe that He will. But we must not
weaken our determination by reckoning childishly on divine interference.
If we fight, we fight because we refuse to die like cowards, because we
refuse to go before our Maker shamed at having allowed our homes to be
devastated, our women outraged, our children massacred without striking
a blow--however futile--in their defence. We fight then, seigniors?" he
added exultantly. "Is that your decision?"
There was not one dissentient voice. Old and young, grave and gay,
prudent and hot-headed, every man there was ready to follow the leader
of their choice.
"For freedom, faith and country!" cried Leatherface loudly.
"For freedom, faith and country," came from two thousand panting
throats.
"As to our plan of campaign," now resumed the man with the mask as soon
as silence and calm was restored once more, "I have not yet had the time
to think on all the details soberly. But the main outline of it was
dictated to me by the Prince of Orange even whilst we halted at
Wondelghem, waiting for horses. He is the finest military strategist
the world hath ever known, misfortune hath pursued him, but hath not
impaired his marvellous powers of command. I will ask some of you,
seigniors, to aid me with your counsels, and with the directions which
His Highness hath given me we may yet give such a fine account of
ourselves as will force our tyrants to treat with us for peace. There
are only two thousand of us now; by to-morrow we can reckon on several
thousands more; but of a certainty at the first clash of arms all our
young and able-bodied fellow-citizens will take heart and join us in our
desperate struggle, and may God help us all!"
There is no doubt that he had enflamed the blood of his hearers; by the
dim light of the tallow candles every face now looked flushed, every
pair of eyes glowed with the noble fire of patriotism and of courage.
Leatherface waited for a time in silence while whispered conversation
and discussion became general. He did not join in it himself, but stood
somewhat apart from the others, the cynosure of all eyes, a strange,
almost mysterious figure in his tightly-fitting clothes which gave full
play to the powerful muscles of arms and thighs and displayed the great
breadth of shoulder and depth of chest. Many there were who still eyed
him curiously; Laurence van Rycke in particular did not take his eyes
off him, but no one thought of challenging him again to unmask. What
mattered what the face was like, when the heart was so great and fine?
IV
After a few minutes the man with the mask once more advanced to the edge
of the platform. There was still something that he wished to say.
"We must not forget, seigniors," he began very quietly, "that the tyrant
hath given us a respite of forty-eight hours before he will embark on
his hellish work of destruction. He hath demanded the person of the
Prince of Orange as the price of his mercy. Well, seigniors, the
Prince, thank God, is no longer here; but it is just possible that we
may bribe the wild beast yet into satisfaction by giving him some of the
blood for which he thirsts, and thus save our beautiful city from all
the horrors which he hath in contemplation against her."
"And how wilt do that, friend?" sighed, Messire van Overbeque
despondently.
"With your permission I will explain," rejoined the other. "I propose
that anon in the early morning a certain number of you seek out the Duke
of Alva in Het Spanjaard's Kasteel and tell him that the Prince of
Orange--aided by his humble watchdog--did succeed in evading once again
the trap which had been set for him; but," he continued with slow and
deliberate emphasis, "that you are prepared to deliver into his hands
the person of the man Leatherface, since you happen to know his
whereabouts in the city."
For a moment he could not continue, loud and vehement protestations
against this monstrous proposal arose from every side.
"I entreat you, seigniors, to remember," he continued with deep
earnestness as soon as the tumult had subsided, "that a certain amount
of mystery hath hung--not through mine own seeking, believe me--around
my person. Next to our Prince himself, there are few in this
unfortunate country whose death would be more welcome to our Spanish
tyrants than that of the miscreant Leatherface; and my belief is that if
you offered to give him up to the Lieutenant-Governor you might obtain
from that cruel despot a small measure of mercy for our city."
He had long since finished speaking, but now there were no longer any
protestations or murmurs; an awesome silence hung about the vaulted
room. No one had stirred; no one spoke; not one man dared to look his
neighbour in the face. Every man stared straight before him at that
slim figure, which suddenly appeared to them all, to be unearthly as it
stood there, beneath the canopy, like the very personification of simple
self-sacrifice, offering up his life so willingly, and above all, so
cheerfully to save his fellow-men.
In these days of cruel oppression and of sublime virtues, such an act of
abnegation was probably not rare; men were accustomed to suffer death
and worse for an ideal, and for the sake of others who were weaker than
themselves; but there was something so engaging, so light-hearted in
that stranger there that every man who heard him felt that by
sacrificing such a man he would be sending a brother, a son, or dear
friend to the gallows.
"Well, seigniors," said Leatherface, "I still await your decision."
"You speak glibly, friend," murmured the Procurator-General sombrely,
"but if the tyrant hath you in his power, it will not only mean death
for you, remember, it will not mean the axe or the gallows, it will mean
the torture-chamber of the Inquisition first and the stake afterwards."
"I know that," retorted the other simply. "Better men than I have gone
through it all for faith and freedom. I am young, 'tis true--but I have
no ties of interest or affection that bind me to this earth. Few men
will go to their Maker so little regretted by kith or kin as I shall be.
So I pray you do not think of me. Rather turn your thoughts, I entreat,
to the details of the plan, the composition of the deputation that would
be prepared to meet the Duke of Alva to-morrow. Those posts, too, will
be full of danger, and the negotiations, too, might fail--what is the
life of one man worth when weighed in the balance with an entire city?"
"And which of us would you entrust with the abominable errand?" queried
Laurence van Rycke abruptly.
"Not you, of a certainty," said the other. "Your mother will have need
of comfort and protection, since she refused to place herself in safety.
Messire the Procurator-General should, I think, lead the deputation, he
hath never been suspected of heresy or rebellion, and the proposal would
thus come quite naturally from him; if Messire van Overbeque will join
him and you, Seigneur van Groobendock, meseems that we could not choose
better."
"Nay! I cannot do it," interposed the Vice-Bailiff vehemently. "I
would sooner cut off my right hand now."
"Would you sooner sacrifice this city, all the women and children, your
own wife, Messire, and daughters, rather than one man whose identity you
need never know?"
It was indeed a terrible puzzle, one which even these brave men found it
hard to solve.
"I entreat you, seigniors," continued Leatherface earnestly, "to do what
I ask. Nay!" he added resolutely, "I'll do more. Just now you chose me
as your leader. Then I command you to act in accordance with my will."
"You are quite determined, then?" asked the Vice-Bailiff.
"Would you counsel me to waver?" retorted the other. "Ah, seigniors!" he
added, with that ringing note in his voice which was so inspiring to
them all, "I entreat you do not grieve for me. Rather grieve for
yourselves and gather courage for your errand. So help me God, yours
will be no easy task. You will have to fawn and to cringe before the
tyrant whom you hate. You will have to bear his arrogance and the
insolence of his menials. You will have to swallow your wrath and to
bend your pride. Your sacrifice indeed will be far harder to make than
mine. I only offer mine own unworthy life; you will offer up to-morrow
your dignity, your manhood, all that you and your fathers hold so dear.
Nay! I would not change places with you for ten such worthless lives as
mine. See, what a coward I am--I send you to do this abominable errand,
while I sit at home in comfort and dream of the happiness of giving my
life for Ghent and for her children!"
"God help us all!" murmured Messire Deynoot, the Procurator-General.
"Indeed, He alone can do that," rejoined Leatherface, "for grave fears
assail me that our proposal will be rejected; is it likely that it would
appeal to such a blood-thirsty tyrant as the Duke of Alva? My one
hope--and that alas! is a slender one--is that he hath it not in his
mind to destroy our beautiful city, and might be glad of an excuse of
exercising mercy."
A groan of execration greeted this suggestion. Was it likely that any
thought of mercy could ever enter the mind of such a man?--more cruel
than any beast of prey, for he killed for the mere sake of killing,
inflicted inhuman tortures on innocent victims for the sake of gloating
over their sufferings, and rejoiced in bloodshed and outrage and
desecration for their own sakes, without any thought of benefiting
himself.
"Then if these negotiations fail, seigniors," concluded Leatherface
finally, "nothing will be left for us but a bitter struggle which may
end in defeat, but which will leave us proud and unconquered still."
"Amen to that," said the Procurator-General fervently.
"Then let us go quietly to our homes to-night. Let us keep from those
who are weak and anxious all knowledge of that which we have resolved;
let our women pray while we prepare to act. Flemish women have hearts
of steel; they will not waver when the hour comes. They will help us
with their prayers now, and load our arquebuses for us when we need
them. For them we will fight and for our children, and if defeat stares
us in the face at the last, then will we save them by one supreme act
from falling into the hands of the tyrant. Until then and after,
seigniors, allow me to keep this mask upon my face. When you go to meet
the Duke of Alva to-morrow, you will offer him a paltry chattel, a man
whom you do not know, who hath no name, no identity, the spy of the
Prince of Orange--just him whom you call Leatherface."
"God reward you," they murmured fervently.
"Perhaps He will," whispered the man with the mask, under his breath,
"and with a speedy death!"
"And now," he added, "as the hour is late, let us disperse. To-morrow,
here, and at this hour, we meet again. Messire Deynoot will give you a
report of his audience with the tyrant, and I may be lucky enough to be
allowed to give my life for this city which I love. Farewell,
seigniors, may God guard you until then. If Alva will have none of me,
then I will have the honour of leading you--to victory, I hope--to death
if God wills!"
One by one they rose from the benches where they had been sitting, and
all took what they believed to be a last farewell of that strange man
whose identity was still unknown to them, yet whom they had all learned
to love as a leader and as a friend. Indeed, their noble hearts were
torn asunder by the awful alternative which he himself had placed for
them. It was a case of grim determination, of smothering every call of
Sentiment which might prove insistent against thus sacrificing a brave
man to the cruel lust of an abominable tyrant. It had to be, and these
men were fine and great enough in themselves to understand that in
offering up his life to save his fellow-citizens, Leatherface had
certainly chosen the better part.
And having looked their last on him, they went out through the postern
gate of the convent of St. Agneten in groups of twos and threes. They
crossed the two bridges that span the Leye at this point. The night was
dark, and this was an isolated part of the city, situate far from the
Stadthuis and the Kouter. From the St. Baafs and St. Nikolas quarters
of the city came faintly echoing across the river the sound of riotous
merriment proceeding from those buildings and houses wherein the Walloon
soldiery had installed themselves. But the men who had just pledged
themselves to fight a losing battle against overwhelming odds paid no
heed to what went on around them. They glided noiselessly through the
dark and narrow streets; some went to right, some to left, some to north
and others to south, and quietly regained their homes.
V
But in the vast refectory two men had remained behind after every one
else had gone: they were the man with the mask, and Laurence van Rycke.
The latter had waited in silence whilst the whole of the assembly filed
out by the door, but when Leatherface in his turn prepared to go,
Laurence threw him such a look of appeal, that after an instant's
hesitation, he too decided to wait.
Then when the last of the assembly had gone, Laurence tried to speak,
but the words died in his throat ere they reached his quivering lips.
There was still that look of mute appeal in his eyes, and of well-nigh
unendurable mental torment in every line of his haggard face, and
suddenly he gave a cry like some wounded creature in mortal pain; he
fell on his knees against the table, and burying his face in his hands,
he sobbed like a child. The other waited patiently and silently until
the paroxysm was over: his mouth beneath the mask looked set but kindly,
and his eyes through the holes in the leather were fixed upon the
stricken man.
"She is safe from the vengeance of our people," he said, as soon as he
saw that Laurence had momentarily regained his self-control. "Is that
what troubles you, Messire?"
Laurence--already ashamed of his tears--had struggled to his feet. He
passed his hand across his moist forehead and through his unruly hair,
and tried to look Leatherface valiantly between the eyes.
"Partly that," he said resolutely. "But I'll not speak of her. It was
she then who betrayed us all?" he added with another heartbroken cry.
To this Leatherface made no answer, and Laurence continued more calmly:
"It was of the lists I wish to speak. The papers which His Highness
entrusted to my care."
"Yes?"
"I went to look for them after ... after she left the house, and found
that they had gone."
"Then what did you do?"
"I knew that we were betrayed ... then ... there ... at once ... and by
her ... an exquisite woman, Messire, whom I ... Oh! it was horrible!" he
exclaimed, and even now a look that was almost like death came over his
wan cheeks and hollow eyes.
Then once more he resumed quietly: "For a few moments the blow of this
awful discovery completely stunned me. I could neither think nor act.
My first coherent thought was to consult with my mother as to what had
best be done. How to find His Highness until evening I knew not, or how
to obtain duplicate lists, so that I could run round the town and warn
all our followers of the terrible danger that threatened them."
"You did not think of flight? ... for your mother, I mean?..."
"I entreated my mother to leave the city at once, but she refused to go,
and we were standing face to face with one another and the terrible
calamity that had befallen us all when Pierre came in with a letter,
which--he said--was given to him in the open street by a man whom he did
not know. The letter, I take it, came from you."
"Yes," replied the other, "I was afraid that you might do something
rash, and raise the alarm before it was necessary. The lists," he
added, "are quite safe. I was able after His Highness left the
High-Bailiff's house last night to extract them from the bureau, where I
did not feel that they were over safe; in their place I put a packet
containing fictitious lists of men who do not exist, and places of abode
which are not to be found in this city. It is these which have been
sent to senor de Vargas. I had just time to scribble these and to place
them in a conspicuous place in the bureau."
"You used a false key then?" queried Laurence in bewilderment.
"Am I not a spy of the Prince of Orange?" retorted the other with a
quaint little laugh, "and are not all spies provided with means of
forcing secret locks? Here are the lists," he added, as from inside his
doublet he half drew the packets of papers. "When you are called to
account for them, you can return them without fear. No one will know
that they ever left your care ... that is, if you have not spoken of it
before now...."
"No. I had not the heart. We all knew that we were betrayed. You
warned us all and took measures to convene us here to-night; but until
the hour when your letter warned me that for the moment all was well, I
endured mental torments such as surely the lost souls in hell have never
suffered. I saw those lists in the hands of our tyrants--placed there
by the instrumentality of a woman who is to me the embodiment of all
that is pure and good; I saw--in my mind--the spies of Alva going the
round, this very night, and arresting our brave followers one by one ...
Oh God! you do not know what I suffered...."
"Do not think of that any more, Messire," rejoined Leatherface quietly.
"As you see, the lists are now safe in my care. Alas! it is too late to
beg you to take your mother out of the city. Guard and protect her well
and God help us all."
He once more now prepared to go, and Laurence was ready to follow him,
but just at the last an impulse caused the latter to detain the
mysterious stranger once more. There was still one question which
hovered on his lips, the answer to which would perhaps ease that awful
burden of sorrow which Lenora's betrayal had placed upon his soul:
"Messire," he said appealingly, "what of her?"
"Pray for her, Messire," replied Leatherface quietly, "she suffers more
than you do."
"Must we all curse her then? or else be traitors to our own people."
"Nay! you can pity her! What she did, she did from her own sense of
patriotism and of justice. She hates us all, Messire, as the enemies of
her people. She hates and despises me as the assassin of the man she
loved. Pray for her, Messire, but in pity pray also for the man who
whilst striving to win her heart, only succeeded in breaking his own."
VI
An hour later in the house in the Nieuwstraat, Clemence van Rycke was
still awake. She sat in her favourite tall chair beside the hearth, and
Laurence her son was kneeling beside her.
"It is too late now, mother," he was saying gloomily. "No power on earth
can save you. Would to God you had let me take you to Bruegge this
afternoon."
"And desert my post like a coward," retorted Clemence hotly. "I can do
little, 'tis true; but when the hour comes I can tend the sick and the
dying, and pray for the dead; and if you are taken from me, Laurence, I
can be laid beside you.... But," she added, with such an intensity of
bitterness and hatred that her voice nearly choked her as she spoke, "I
would not owe my safety to that execrable traitress..."
"Hush, mother, in the name of Heaven..." broke in Laurence with a
heart-broken sob.
"Are you, too, going to defend her?" retorted the mother fiercely.
"She was compelled to act as she did," murmured Laurence; "she acted in
ignorance and innocence. I'd stake my life that she is pure and good."
"Pure and good!" exclaimed Clemence with a strident laugh. "A spawn of
the devil, without virtue and without mercy. Oh! that my lips should
ever have touched her lying face--that white forehead which concealed
thoughts of falsehood and treachery! Do not defend her, Laurence, or
you will break my heart. Leave her defence to your brother Mark, who
cares nothing for his country and for his kindred, who will smile and
drink whilst the walls of Ghent fall about his ears, who hath allowed
his weak and cowardly heart to be captured by that murderess! Leave him
to defend her, I say. Lenora de Vargas is worthy of Mark van Rycke!"
"Mother!" cried Laurence with uncontrolled vehemence as he threw his
arms round his mother's shoulders. "In the name of God stop, for you
almost blaspheme. Speak not of Mark save with a blessing on your lips.
Pray for him this night, as you have never prayed before."
"Laurence," cried the mother, "are you mad? What do you mean? What has
happened to Mark? Where is he?"
"In his bed, no doubt, at this moment, mother."
"Sleeping whilst we all weep and pray!"
"Sleeping in peace whilst giving up life, and more than life, to try and
save us all!" retorted Laurence, as he slowly rose to his feet.
"Laurence! you are mad! Mark is..."
"Mark is the friend and saviour of the Prince of Orange, mother dear,"
said the young man quietly, "and we have all known him hitherto as
Leatherface."
"It is false!" cried Clemence vehemently.
"I swear by God that it is true," proclaimed Laurence, fervently.
The exclamation which she would have uttered froze upon Clemence van
Rycke's lips; for a moment she remained quite still, leaning slightly
forward with hands resting upon the arms of the chair. Then a pitiable
moan escaped her, and slowly she rose and then fell upon her knees.
"Oh God! forgive me," she cried, "if this be true."
"It is true, mother," said Laurence firmly. "For close on two hours
to-night I sat close to him whilst he spoke. In the absence of the
Prince of Orange we have chosen him as our leader; if the Duke of Alva
refuses the proposals which we are going to put before him, Mark will
lead us to fight or to death."
"The proposal! What proposal?"
"That Leatherface be given up to the tyrant as the price of the safety
of the city."
"And you--his brother--agreed to this infamous suggestion?" murmured
Clemence hoarsely.
"We must not leave a stone unturned or a man alive to save the women and
children," replied Laurence sombrely.
"Then may God have mercy on us all!" cried Clemence, and she fell back
heart-broken against the cushions of her chair.