IN THE DUKE'S NAME.
They took me back to the room in the tower, it being now nearly ten
o'clock. Master Lindstrom would fain have stayed with me constantly to
the end, but having the matter I have mentioned much in my mind, I
begged him to go and get me writing materials. When he returned Van
Tree was with him. With a particularity very curious at that moment, I
remarked that the latter was carrying something.
"Where did you get that?" I said sharply and at once.
"It is your haversack," he answered, setting it down quietly. "I found
the man who had taken possession of your horse, and got it from him. I
thought there might be something in it you might like."
"It is my haversack," I assented. "But it was not on my horse. I have
not seen it since I left it in Master Lindstrom's house by the river.
I left it on the pallet in my room there, and it was forgotten. I
searched for it at Emmerich, you remember."
"I only know," he replied, "that I discovered it behind the saddle of
the horse you were riding yesterday."
He thought that I had become confused and was a little wrong-headed
from excitement. Master Lindstrom also felt troubled, as he told me
afterward, at seeing me taken up with a trifle at such a time.
But there was nothing wrong with my wits, as I promptly showed them.
"The horse I was riding yesterday?" I continued. "Ah! then, I
understand. I was riding the horse which I took from the Spanish
trooper. The Spaniard must have annexed the haversack when he and his
companions searched the house after our departure."
"That is it, no doubt," Master Lindstrom said. "And in the hurry of
yesterday's ride you failed to notice it."
It was a strange way of recovering one's property--strange that the
enemy should have helped one to it. But there are times--and this to
me was one--when the strange seems the ordinary and commonplace. I
took the sack and slipped my hand through a well-known slit in the
lining. Yes, the letter I had left there was there still--the letter
to Mistress Clarence. I drew it out. The corners of the little packet
were frayed, and the parchment was stained and discolored, no doubt by
the damp which had penetrated to it. But the seal was whole. I placed
it, as it was, in Master Lindstrom's hands.
"Give it," I said, "to the Duchess afterward. It concerns her. You
have heard us talk about it. Bid her make what use she pleases of it."
I turned away then and sat down, feeling a little flurried and
excited, as one about to start upon a journey might feel; not afraid
nor exceedingly depressed, but braced up to make a brave show and hide
what sadness I did feel by the knowledge that many eyes were upon me,
and that more would be watching me presently. At the far end of the
room a number of people had now gathered, and were conversing
together. Among them were not only my jailers of the night, but two or
three officers, a priest who had come to offer me his services, and
some inquisitive gazers who had obtained admission. Their curiosity,
however, did not distress me. On the contrary, I was glad to hear the
stir and murmur of life about me to the last.
I will not set down the letter I wrote to the Duchess, though it were
easy for me to do so, seeing that her son has it now. It contains some
things very proper to be said by a dying man, of which I am not
ashamed--God forbid! but which it would not be meet for me to repeat
here. Enough that I told her in a few words who I was, and entreated
her, in the name of whatever services I had rendered her, to let
Petronilla and Sir Anthony know how I had died. And I added something
which would, I thought, comfort her and her husband--namely, that I
was not afraid, or in any suffering of mind or body.
The writing of this shook my composure a little. But as I laid down
the pen and looked up and found that the time was come, I took courage
in a marvelous manner. The captain of the guard--I think that out of a
compassionate desire not to interrupt me they had allowed me some
minutes of grace--came to me, leaving the group at the other end, and
told me gravely that I was waited for. I rose at once and gave the
letter to Master Lindstrom with some messages in which Dymphna and
Anne were not forgotten. And then, with a smile--for I felt under all
those eyes as if I were going into battle--I said: "Gentlemen, I am
ready if you are. It is a fine day to die. You know," I added gayly,
"in England we have a proverb, 'The better the day, the better the
deed!' So it is well to have a good day to have a good death, Sir
Captain."
"A soldier's death, sir, is a good death;" he answered gravely,
speaking in Spanish and bowing.
Then he pointed to the door.
As I walked toward it, I paused momentarily by the window, and looked
out on the crowd below. It filled the sunlit street--save where a
little raised platform strewn with rushes protruded itself--with heads
from wall to wall, with faces all turned one way--toward me. It was a
silent crowd standing in hushed awe and expectation, the consciousness
of which for an instant sent a sudden chill to my heart, blanching my
cheek, and making my blood run slow for a moment. The next I moved on
to the door, and bowing to the spectators as they stood aside, began
to descend the narrow staircase.
There were guards going down before me, and behind me were Master
Lindstrom and more guards. The Dutchman reached forward in the gloom,
and clasped my hand, holding it, as we went down, in a firm, strong
grip.
"Never fear," I said to him cheerily, looking back. "It is all right."
He answered in words which I will not write here; not wishing, as I
have said, to make certain things common.
I suppose the doorway at the bottom was accidentally blocked, for a
few steps short of it we came to a standstill; and almost at the same
moment I started, despite myself, on hearing a sudden clamor and a
roar of many voices outside.
"What is it?" I asked the Dutchman.
"It is the Duke of Cleves arriving, I expect," he whispered. "He comes
in by the other gate."
A moment later we moved on and passed out into the light, the soldiers
before me stepping on either side to give me place. The sunshine for
an instant dazzled me, and I lowered my eyes. As I gradually raised
them again I saw before me a short lane formed by two rows of
spectators kept back by guards; and at the end of this, two or three
rough wooden steps leading to a platform on which were standing a
number of people. And above and beyond all only the bright blue sky,
the roofs and gables of the nearer houses showing dark against it.
I advanced steadily along the path left for me, and would have
ascended the steps. But at the foot of them I came to a standstill,
and looked round for guidance. The persons on the scaffold all had
their backs turned to me, and did not make way, while the shouting and
uproar hindered them from hearing that we had come out. Then it struck
me, seeing that the people at the windows were also gazing away, and
taking no heed of me, that the Duke was passing the farther end of the
street, and a sharp pang of angry pain shot through me. I had come out
to die, but that which was all to me was so little to these people
that they turned away to see a fellow-mortal ride by!
Presently, as we stood there, in a pit, as it were, getting no view, I
felt Master Lindstrom's hand, which still clasped mine, begin to
shake; and turning to him, I found that his face had changed to a deep
red, and that his eyes were protruding with a kind of convulsive
eagerness which instantly infected me.
"What is it?" I stammered. I began to tremble also. The air rang, it
seemed to me, with one word, which a thousand tongues took up and
reiterated. But it was a German word, and I did not understand it.
"Wait! wait!" Master Lindstrom exclaimed. "Pray God it be true!"
He seized my other hand and held it as though he would protect me from
something. At the same moment Van Tree pushed past me, and, bounding
up the steps, thrust his way through the officials on the scaffold,
causing more than one fur-robed citizen near the edge to lose his
balance and come down as best he could on the shoulders of the guards.
"What is it?" I cried. "What is it?" I cried in impatient wonder.
"Oh! my lad, my lad!" Master Lindstrom answered, his face close to
mine, and the tears running down his cheeks. "It is cruel if it be not
true! Cruel! They cry a pardon!"
"A pardon?" I echoed.
"Ay, lad, a pardon. But it may not be true," he said, putting his arm
about my shoulder. "Do not make too sure of it. It is only the mob cry
it out."
My heart made a great bound, and seemed to stand still. There was a
loud surging in my brain, and a mist rose before my eyes and hid
everything. The clamor and shouting of the street passed away, and
sounded vague and distant. The next instant, it is true, I was myself
again, but my knees were trembling under me, and I stood flaccid and
unnerved, leaning on my friend.
"Well?" I said faintly.
"Patience! patience a while, lad!" he answered.
But, thank Heaven! I had not long to wait. The words were scarcely off
his tongue, when another hand sought mine and shook it wildly; and I
saw Van Tree before me, his face radiant with joy, while a man whom he
had knocked down in his hasty leap from the scaffold was rising beside
me with a good-natured smile. As if at a signal, every face now turned
toward me. A dozen friendly hands passed me up the steps amid a fresh
outburst of cheering. The throng on the scaffold opened somehow, and I
found myself in a second, as it seemed, face to face with the
president of the court. He smiled on me gravely and kindly--what
smiles there seemed to be on all those faces--and held out a paper.
"In the name of the Duke!" he said, speaking in Spanish, in a clear,
loud voice. "A pardon!"
I muttered something, I know not what; nor did it matter, for it was
lost in a burst of cheering. When this was over and silence obtained,
the magistrate continued, "You are required, however, to attend the
Duke at the courthouse. Whither we had better proceed at once."
"I am ready, sir," I muttered.
A road was made for us to descend, and, walking in a kind of beautiful
dream, I passed slowly up the street by the side of the magistrate,
the crowd everywhere willingly standing aside for us. I do not know
whether all those thousands of faces really looked joyfully and kindly
on me as I passed, or whether the deep thankfulness which choked me,
and brought the tears continually to my eyes, transfigured them and
gave them a generous charm not their own. But this I do know: that the
sunshine seemed brighter and the air softer than ever before; that the
clouds trailing across the blue expanse were things of beauty such as
I had never met before; that to draw breath was a joy, and to move,
delight; and that only when the dark valley was left behind did I
comprehend its full gloom--by Heaven's mercy. So may it be with all!
At the door of the court-house, whither numbers of the people had
already run, the press was so great that we came to a standstill, and
were much buffeted about, though in all good humor, before, even with
the aid of the soldiers, we could be got through the throng. When I at
last emerged I found myself again before the table, and saw--but only
dimly, for the light now fell through the stained window directly on
my head--a commanding figure standing behind it. Then a strange thing
happened. A woman passed swiftly round the table, and came to me and
flung her arms round my neck and kissed me. It was the Duchess, and
for a moment she hung upon me, weeping before them all.
"Madam," I said softly, "then it is you who have done this!"
"Ah!" she exclaimed, holding me off from her and looking at me with
eyes which glowed through her tears, "and it was you who did that!"
She drew back from me then, and took me by the hand, and turned
impetuously to the Duke of Cleves, who stood behind smiling at her in
frank amusement. "This," she said, "is the man who gave his life for
my husband, and to whom your highness has given it back."
"Let him tell his tale," the Duke answered gravely. "And do you, my
cousin, sit here beside me."
She left me and walked round the table, and he came forward and placed
her in his own chair amid a great hush of wonder, for she was still
meanly clad, and showed in a hundred places the marks and stains of
travel. Then he stood by her with his hand on the back of the seat. He
was a tall, burly man, with bold, quick-glancing eyes, a flushed face,
and a loud manner; a fierce, blusterous prince, as I have heard. He
was plainly dressed in a leather hunting-suit, and wore huge gauntlets
and brown boots, with a broad-leaved hat pinned up on one side. Yet he
looked a prince.
Somehow I stammered out the tale of the surrender.
"But why? why? why, man?" he asked, when I had finished; "why did you
let them think it was you who wounded the burgher, if it was not?"
"Your highness," I answered, "I had received nothing but good from her
grace, I had eaten her bread and been received into her service.
Besides, it was through my persuasion that we came by the road which
led to this misfortune instead of by another way. Therefore it seemed
to me right that I should suffer, who stood alone and could be
spared--and not her husband."
"It was a great deed!" cried the prince loudly. "I would I had such a
servant. Are you noble, lad?"
I colored high, but not in pain or mortification. The old wound might
reopen, but amid events such as those of this morning it was a slight
matter. "I come of a noble family, may it please your highness," I
answered modestly; "but circumstances prevent me claiming kinship with
it."
He was about, I think, to question me further, when the Duchess looked
up, and said something to him and he something to her. She spoke again
and he answered. Then he nodded assent. "You would fain stand on your
own feet?" he cried to me. "Is that so?"
"It is, sire," I answered.
"Then so be it!" he replied loudly, looking round on the throng with a
frown. "I will ennoble you. You would have died for your lord and
friend, and therefore I give you a rood of land in the common
graveyard of Santon to hold of me, and I name you Von Santonkirch. And
I, William, Duke of Cleves, Julich and Guelders, prince of the Empire,
declare you noble, and give you for your arms three swords of justice;
and the motto you may buy of a clerk! Further, let this decree be
enrolled in my Chancery. Are you satisfied?"
As I dropped on my knees, my eyes sparkling, there was a momentary
disturbance behind me. It was caused by the abrupt entrance of the
Sub-dean. He took in part of the situation at a glance; that is, he
saw me kneeling before the Duke. But he could not see the Duchess of
Suffolk, the Duke's figure being interposed. As he came forward, the
crowd making way for him, he cast an angry glance at me, and scarcely
smoothed his brow even to address the prince. "I am glad that your
highness has not done what was reported to me," he said hastily, his
obeisance brief and perfunctory. "I heard an uproar in the town, and
was told that this man was pardoned."
"It is so!" said the Duke curtly, eying the ecclesiastic with no great
favor. "He is pardoned."
"Only in part, I presume," the priest rejoined urgently. "Or, if
otherwise, I am sure that your highness has not received certain
information with which I can furnish you."
"Furnish away, sir," quoth the Duke, yawning.
"I have had letters from my Lord Bishop of Arras respecting him."
"Respecting him!" exclaimed the prince, starting and bending his brows
in surprise.
"Respecting those in whose company he travels," the priest answered
hastily. "They are represented to me as dangerous persons, pestilent
refugees from England, and obnoxious alike to the Emperor, the Prince
of Spain, and the Queen of England."
"I wonder you do not add also to the King of France and the Soldan of
Turkey!" growled the Duke. "Pish! I am not going to be dictated to by
Master Granvelle--no, nor by his master, be he ten times Emperor! Go
to! Go to! Master Sub-dean! You forget yourself, and so does your
master the Bishop. I will have you know that these people are not what
you think them. Call you my cousin, the widow of the consort of the
late Queen of France, an obnoxious person? Fie! Fie! You forget
yourself!"
He moved as he stopped speaking, so that the astonished churchman
found himself confronted on a sudden by the smiling, defiant Duchess.
The Sub-dean started and his face fell, for, seeing her seated in the
Duke's presence, he discerned at once that the game was played out.
Yet he rallied himself, bethinking him, I fancy, that there were many
spectators. He made a last effort. "The Bishop of Arras----" he began.
"Pish!" scoffed the Duke, interrupting him.
"The Bishop of Arras----" the priest repeated firmly.
"I would he were hung with his own tapestry!" retorted the Duke, with
a brutal laugh.
"Heaven forbid!" replied the ecclesiastic, his pale face reddening and
his eyes darting baleful glances at me. But he took the hint, and
henceforth said no more of the Bishop. Instead, he continued smoothly,
"Your highness has, of course, considered the danger--the danger, I
mean, of provoking neighbors so powerful by shielding this lady and
making her cause your own. You will remember, sir----"
"I will remember Innspruck!" roared the Duke, in a rage, "where the
Emperor, ay, and your everlasting Bishop too, fled before a handful of
Protestants, like sheep before wolves. A fig for your Emperor! I never
feared him young, and I fear him less now that he is old and decrepit
and, as men say, mad. Let him get to his watches, and you to your
prayers. If there were not this table between us, I would pull your
ears, Master Churchman!"
* * * * *
"But tell me," I asked Master Bertie as I stood beside his couch an
hour later, "how did the Duchess manage it? I gathered from something
you or she said, a short time back, that you had no influence with the
Duke of Cleves."
"Not quite that," he answered. "My wife and the late Duke of Suffolk
had much to do with wedding the Prince's sister to King Henry,
thirteen--fourteen years back, is it? And so far we might have felt
confident of his protection. But the marriage turned out ill, or
turned out short, and Queen Anne of Cleves was divorced. And--well, we
felt a little less confident on that account, particularly as he has
the name of a headstrong, passionate man."
"Heaven keep him in it!" I said, smiling. "But you have not told me
yet what happened."
"The Duchess was still asleep this morning, fairly worn out, as you
may suppose, when a great noise awoke her. She got up and went to
Dymphna, and learned it was the Duke's trumpets. Then she went to the
window, and, seeing few people in the streets to welcome him, inquired
why this was. Dymphna broke down at that, and told her what was
happening to you, and that you were to die at that very hour. She went
out straightway, without covering her head,--you know how impetuous
she is,--and flung herself on her knees in the mud before the Duke's
horse as he entered. He knew her, and the rest you can guess."
Can guess? Ah, what happiness it was! Outside, the sun fell hotly on
the steep red roofs, with their rows of casements, and on the sleepy
square, in which knots of people still lingered, talking of the
morning's events. I could see below me the guard which Duke William,
shrewdly mistrusting the Sub-dean, had posted in front of the house,
nominally to do the Duchess honor. I could hear in the next room the
cheerful voices of my friends. What happiness it was to live! What
happiness to be loved! How very, very good and beautiful and glorious
a world, seemed the world to me on that old May morning in that quaint
German town which we had entered so oddly!
As I turned from the window full of thankfulness, my eyes met those of
Mistress Anne, who was sitting on the far side of the sick man's
couch, the baby in a cradle beside her. The risk and exposure of the
last week had made a deeper mark upon her than upon any of us. She was
paler, graver, older, more of a woman and less, much less, of a girl.
And she looked very ill. Her eyes, in particular, seemed to have grown
larger, and as they dwelt on me now there was a strange and solemn
light in them, under which I grew uneasy.
"You have been wonderfully preserved," she said presently, speaking
dreamily, and as much to herself as to me.
"I have, indeed," I answered, thinking she referred only to my escape
of the morning.
But she did not.
"There was, firstly, the time on the river when you were hurt with the
oar," she continued, gazing absently at me, her hands in her lap; "and
then the night when you saw Clarence with Dymphna."
"Or, rather, saw him without her," I interposed, smiling. It was
strange that she should mention it as a fact, when at the time she had
so scolded me for making the statement.
"And then," she continued, disregarding my interruption, "there was
the time when you were stabbed in the passage; and again when you had
the skirmish by the river; and then to-day you were within a minute of
death. You have been wonderfully preserved!"
"I have," I assented thoughtfully. "The more as I suspect that I have
to thank Master Clarence for all these little adventures."
"Strange--very strange!" she muttered, removing her eyes from me that
she might fix them on the floor.
"What is strange?"
The abrupt questioner was the Duchess, who came bustling in at the
moment. "What is strange?" she repeated, with a heightened color and
dancing eyes. "Shall I tell you?" She paused and looked brightly at
me, holding something concealed behind her. I guessed in a moment,
from the aspect of her face, what it was: the letter which I had given
to Master Lindstrom in the morning, and which, with a pardonable
forgetfulness, I had failed to reclaim.
I turned very red. "It was not intended for you now," I said shyly.
For in the letter I had told her my story.
"Pooh! pooh!" she cried. "It is just as I thought. A pretty piece of
folly! No," she continued, as I opened my mouth, "I am not going to
keep your secret, sir. You may go down on your knees. It will be of no
use. Richard, you remember Sir Anthony Cludde of Coton End in
Warwickshire?"
"Oh, yes," her husband said, rising on his elbow, while his face lit
up, and I stood bashfully, shifting my feet.
"I have danced with him a dozen times, years ago!" she continued, her
eyes sparkling with mischief. "Well, sir, this gentleman, Master
Francis Carey, otherwise Von Santonkirch, is Francis Cludde, his
nephew!"
"Sir Anthony's nephew?"
"Yes, and the son of Ferdinand Cludde, whom you also have heard of, of
whom the less----"
She stopped, and turned quickly, interrupted by a half-stifled scream.
It was a scream full of sudden horror and amazement and fear; and it
came from Mistress Anne. The girl had risen, and was gazing at me with
distended eyes and blanched cheeks, and hands stretched out to keep me
off--gazing, indeed, as if she saw in me some awful portent or some
dreadful threat. She did not speak, but she began, without taking her
eyes from me, to retreat toward the door.
"Hoity toity!" cried my lady, stamping her foot in anger. "What has
happened to the girl? What----"
What, indeed? The Duchess stopped, still more astonished. For, without
uttering a word of explanation or apology, Mistress Anne had reached
the door, groped blindly for the latch, found it, and gone out, her
eyes, with the same haunted look of horror in them, fixed on me to the
last.