THREE PAWNS
Three English gentlemen were walking slowly round the Vyverburg on the
side where stand the spacious courts of the Buitenhof; the ground
beneath their feet was thickly covered with dry yellow leaves, and the
trees above their heads almost bare, but the sun shone as strong as
summer on the placid surface of the water, and gleamed with a red fire
in the rows of long windows of the Government buildings; the sky was a
great luminous space of blue gold, against which the trees and houses
the other side of the lake showed with a tender clarity, like the
pictures of that great artist, Ver Meer of Delft.
There were swans and ducks on the lake; they, like the water on which
they swam, were touched with this universal hue of gold, and seemed to
be cleaving a way through glimmering mists of sunshine.
The three gentlemen paused by one of the posts protecting the edge of
the water; it was near evening, and under the calm was the sense of a
little rising wind, salt from the sea. Not a word was spoken between
these three who had fallen from much talk to idleness; all had the same
subject in their minds, though each coloured it with his own
temperament; all of them were remarkable-looking men, and typical of
some aspect of the great movement of which they formed a part.
The eldest was a man still in his prime, red-haired and tanned to an
unnatural darkness, with something stern, sad, and passionate in his
face, and an abruptness in his movements; he wore the splendid
appointments of a soldier; across his shoulder was twisted a rich
oriental scarf of coloured silk and gold threads; his name was Fletcher
of Saltoun, a noble Scot, who had returned from the Turkish war to
assist in the enterprise of the Stadtholder.
The second was a youth of singular sweetness of expression and delicacy
of feature, plainly dressed in grey; the charm of his appearance was
marred solely by a black silk patch which he wore over his left eye; he
was staring at the water with a melancholy air, and now and then sighed;
this was Charles Talbot, eleventh Earl of Shrewsbury, dismissed last
year from the army and the Lord-Lieutenancy of Staffordshire for
refusing to abjure his religion; he had mortgaged his estates for
L40,000, which was now at the Bank of Amsterdam at the service of the
Prince. He was for the moment but one of the many refugees at The
Hague.
The third was by far the most remarkable, and bore most signs of
greatness: young, though a little older than the Earl, he was not,
perhaps, half the height, being hunch-shouldered to a deformity, and
thin and meagre in body; his face, livid and lined with disease, wore a
sparkling expression of energy, his eyes, large, noble, and ever
changing in expression with a kind of restless animation, scorn,
impatience, and dare-devilry; even now, when standing still, he thrummed
with his fingers on the railing and whistled 'Lillibulero' under his
breath.
He was that Lord Mordaunt whose fiery, careless courage had urged this
expedition on the Prince a year ago.
Fretting under the languor and idleness engendered by the beautiful late
afternoon and the serene fair prospect, he proceeded to lead his
companions out of the silence to which they were so obviously inclined.
"Where will the Prince land, eh, my lord?" he asked of Shrewsbury. "In
the south-west or the north-east?"
He knew that my lord could not know what was not yet decided, but the
question served to break the pause.
"Why, 'tis even what they argue about," answered the Earl. "Lord
Dunblaine was with His Highness yesterday, and gave as his father's
advice that we should choose the north, because 'tis so easy to obtain
horses in Yorkshire----"
"Or because my Lord Danby," sneered Mordaunt, "hath such a pull in that
county that he hopeth to get His Highness into his hands."
"The Prince is very secret," said Mr. Fletcher.
"He listeneth to all and agreeth with none," answered my Lord Mordaunt.
"He might be more open," complained the Earl, who of the three was most
in the favour of William; but Mordaunt perhaps understood the Prince
better.
"Dr. Burnet is to draw up the letter to the Church," remarked Mr.
Fletcher. "I ever disliked him."
"He is translating the Prince his Declaration also," said the Earl
discontentedly. "I do hope the Prince will not be led by such an
extreme Low Churchman----"
"M. Fagel wrote it," answered Mordaunt. "His Highness said the English
were all such party men he would not trust them to prepare it. He is
himself writing the letter to the army--you have heard? He is clever
with the pen."
"He may," broke out Mr. Fletcher, "trust Dr. Burnet as much as he
pleaseth; but if he is to put his confidence in my Lord Danby we are as
good as lost----"
"Better my Lord Danby than my Lord Sunderland," interrupted Shrewsbury;
"it surpriseth me that he can deal with such a knave."
Lord Mordaunt gave an impatient pirouette.
"Why is there all this delay--delay?" he cried, "_I_ would have sailed
months ago!"
Mr. Fletcher roused at that. He was innocent enough in the matter of
politics to have been one of those who accompanied, with hope of
success, Lord Monmouth on his fatal expedition, and to consider the
Prince's attempt as such another enterprise.
"You are right," he said gloomily. "The King will get wind of it, and
Dartmouth will have his ships spread all round the coast to prevent a
landing."
"I am sick of The Hague--sick!" exclaimed Mordaunt impetuously. "If His
Highness don't leave the cursed place soon, I'll go without him!"
Shrewsbury laughed, then Mordaunt himself good-humouredly; Mr. Fletcher
stared at the slow-sailing ducks. He did not care much what happened,
but he hated inaction, and began to regret the Turks who had provided
it.
"You have heard that Skelton hath been recalled and lodged in the
Tower?" asked Mordaunt.
"Yes," said Shrewsbury; "it was in the letters this morning. It might
have been expected after His Majesty's denial of a French alliance and
reprimand to M. Barillon."
"Sure bad policy," said Mr. Fletcher, but without enthusiasm, "and a
good stroke for the Prince."
In truth none of these gentlemen guessed what a stroke. James had
actually stepped into the trap laid for him, and, seeing how great an
advantage the appearance of an alliance between him and France gave the
States, had angrily repudiated the suggestion, and haughtily reprimanded
M. Barillon for French interference with his affairs. Sunderland,
prepared by the Prince, had urged him on to this course, and the letters
of M. D'Albeville had served to back the Lord-President's reassurances.
The Prince had been triumphant in this encounter, the States and the
people were warmer in his cause than ever after this proof, as they took
it, of a connection, between France and England, dangerous to
themselves. M. D'Avaux, since the disgrace of Skelton, was silent with
mortification, and a kind of lull hung over Europe; William was looking
with a terrible anxiety towards Flanders, where Louis had his troops
threatening the frontiers of the Spanish Lowlands, and so the United
Provinces. What would Louis do now the King of England had rejected his
warnings and refused his aid? On the answer to that question the fate
of Protestant Europe depended.
But these three knew and cared little of these matters; their minds were
set wholly on the domestic policies of England, and occupied with a
vague ideal of liberty for their own faith and their country's laws, not
unmingled with some desire for vengeance on the party now upper-most.
"I saw Sir James Stair to-day," said Mr. Fletcher suddenly; "he hath
come from Leyden to join the Prince. I suppose he will take to himself
the affairs of Scotland."
"Nay," answered the Earl; "the Prince is all for William Carstares, a
poor, mean Scottish minister; but, sir, more in the Prince his
confidence than any of us----"
"Carstares," cried Mordaunt, with flashing eyes, "hath been under
torture with secrets of M. Fagel in his keeping, and never betrayed
them. A brave man!"
Shrewsbury shrugged his shoulders delicately.
"I wish we sailed to-morrow," said Fletcher of Saltoun.
The restless Mordaunt moved on, and the others sauntered beside him.
"The boats are all creeping down to the sea laden with arms," he said
excitedly. "They lie thick as pebbles among the reeds of the islands of
the Rhine and Meure. Sirs, ye should see them."
"I had the Prince his command to stay at The Hague," answered
Shrewsbury. "Saw you these boats?"
"That I did, and pontoons, and transports, and the hay slung in ropes in
the ports, and the great trains of artillery..."
They were walking towards the Gevangenpoort, the prison gate which rose
up by the side of the Vyver. The hazy sky was changing to a tawny
colour behind the dark roof lines of the houses, flushed here and there
with gold and a stain of purple; little pale, shell-coloured clouds
floated away to the uppermost heights of heaven where the clear blue was
still untouched, and the water began to glow and burn with the reflected
fires of the sky.
The clear chimes of the Groote Kerk struck the hour, and the sound of
oncoming horsemen caused the few passers-by to pause before entering the
narrow way of the prison arch.
A cavalcade came into sight from the direction of the Stadhuis, and
moved at a swift trot towards the Gevangenpoort--a number of gentlemen,
with two riding before the others.
As they passed every hat was removed.
"The Prince returning from Helvoet," said Lord Mordaunt, and the three
uncovered as the horsemen approached.
The Stadtholder was mounted on a huge grey Flemish horse, and on his
right hand rode the Marechal de Schomberg, still erect and magnificent;
the two were talking with a certain stiff courtesy; behind them came the
Spanish envoy, M. Zuylestein, M. Zolms, and M. Auverqueverque, together
with a number of Dutch and German nobles.
The Prince saw the three Englishmen and saluted very graciously; the
setting sun was for a moment full on his grave face, then he passed
through the prison arch, and the company clattered over the cobbles out
of sight.
"No Englishman with him, mark you," said Mr. Fletcher.
"Mr. Herbert told me that he _could_ not be open with us," replied
Shrewsbury.
"Yet Herbert is to have the command of the expedition, is he not?"
"They say so; but he is full of discontent. Admiral Evertgen hath
spoken against him to the Prince, methinks."
Mr. Fletcher saluted one of his countrymen whom he had recognized, and
the three turned back.
A steady dusk was descending, extinguishing the colours in the sky, in
the water, in the windows of the Binnenhof, and blurring those in the
dresses of the people passing to and fro; only the trees and the houses
retained their distinctness and sharpness of outline, and they took on a
marvellous colour of living silver grey. Long deep shadows blended with
the water the beautiful irregular buildings that had been the theatre of
so many great events; the swans stood out, a dead white, from hues
rapidly darkening and mysterious; their feathers were ruffled by a long
breeze that swept chilly from the sea and salt dunes at Scheveningen.
A yellow light sprang up in one of the lower windows of the Binnenhof,
and cast reflections far beneath it in the water.
"Did you ever hear the story of John de Witt, the late Grand
Pensionary?" asked Shrewsbury, pulling his cloak about him. "M.
Bentinck told me, and kept me out of bed with the tale----"
"Why should you think of that now?" asked Mordaunt curiously.
"You see that light there--the first to be lit in the Binnenhof?--that
was his room, and M. Bentinck said that always when one passed late one
would see that candle shine and know that M. de Witt was still waking."
"He got a poor reward," said Mr. Fletcher. "He was torn to bits on the
Plaats, was he not?"
"Anyone whose memory goeth back sixteen years will give you an account
of it," answered my Lord Mordaunt dryly. "I wish I had been beside M.
de Witt that day with a sword in my hand!"
The Earl sighed.
"How cold it bloweth! A severe winter is presaged, do you not think, my
lord?" he said. Then abruptly: "Why should good men meet such ends?"
Lord Mordaunt laughed.
"You ask me to explain ingratitude? By Heaven, I have not the wit for
the task."
"Ingratitude!" frowned Shrewsbury; "but these people love the Prince
because he hath done them great services----"
"But shall we?" interrupted Mordaunt. "Ah, sir, I think the Prince will
meet the same spirit as did John de Witt, should he ever rule in
England----"
"Why, God forbid!" exclaimed Mr. Fletcher.
"What?" demanded Mordaunt sharply--"that we should ever be ungrateful?"
"No; that His Highness should ever rule in Britain."
Lord Mordaunt answered with some intensity--
"Are you so simple, sir, as to think we can have a man like that among
us _not_ ruling us?"
Lord Shrewsbury was doubtfully silent. His timorous nature had been
startled by the sudden action into which circumstances had spurred it.
A sense of loyalty, a terror of underhand methods, a dread of anything
so violent as a revolution made him already secretly regret the part he
had so far played so well.
Mr. Fletcher answered carelessly and thoughtlessly--
"You set too high a value on the little Prince. His life is not worth a
year's purchase."
Lord Mordaunt flashed an extraordinary look over the fine person of the
speaker, and the comely youth of the Earl. His thin hand clutched on to
his sword-belt, and his haggard face flushed.
"You set too high a value on bone and muscle!" he cried, with a
passionate sneer. "You are jolly fellows, both of you; but who will
remember you when you have been dead a year? But men," he added with a
terrible energy, "will talk of the Prince of Orange, and of me."
They stared at him, amazed at this outburst, and Shrewsbury, seeing what
a frail, deformed creature he was, blushed with a kind of shame.
"Good God!" said Mr. Fletcher, "I am not working for fame, my lord."
"No!" flashed Lord Mordaunt; "creatures of clay--of clay! Prettily
coloured, but a breath of the fire that burneth in the little plain
vessels would crack you in a day."
He gave a flourishing bow, and walked off towards the Stadhuis.
"An Eccentric," remarked Mr. Fletcher, looking after him.
"I fear so. He will put himself into a passion at a word; but he would
pledge his whole fortune for you if you were in need of it," answered
the Earl. "How suddenly dark it is; let us, sir, go home."