A DANGEROUS ENCOUNTER
The Count of Sluys was sitting at a table covered with papers.
"You have chosen a strange disguise," he said with a smile.
"It is none of my choosing," Ned replied. "I came into the city
in the dress of a peasant boy, but was arrested by Councillor Von
Aert, and had I not made my escape should probably have by this
time been hung."
"Are you the lad for whom such a search has been made?" the count
asked in surprise. "Von Aert is so furious he can talk about nothing
else, and all the world is laughing at his having been tricked by
a boy. Had I known that it was the prince's messenger I should not
have felt inclined to laugh; thinking that papers, that would have
boded me evil if discovered, might have been found upon him."
"They were found upon me," Ned replied; "but happily I recovered
them. As they were not addressed, no one was any the wiser. This
is the one intended for you, sir."
The count opened and read the document, and then gave Ned a long
message to deliver to the prince. It contained particulars of his
interviews with several other nobles, with details as to the number
of men they could put in the field, and the funds they could dispose
of in aid of the rising. Ned took notes of all the figures on a
slip of paper, as he had done in several other instances. The count
then asked him as to his arrest and manner of escape, and laughed
heartily when he found that Von Aert had himself by mistake returned
the letters found upon Ned.
"I have delivered all but one," Ned said. "And that I know not how
to dispose of, for it would be dangerous to play the same trick
again. And, indeed, I want if possible to be out of town tomorrow;
not so much for my own sake, but because were I detected it might
bring destruction upon those who are sheltering me."
"Who is this letter for?" the count asked. Ned hesitated; the
noble to whom the letter was addressed was, like many others of the
prince's secret adherents, openly a strong supporter of the Duke
of Alva. And, indeed, many were at that time playing a double game,
so as to make profit whichever side was successful in the long run.
"Perhaps it is better not to tell me," the count said, seeing Ned's
hesitation, "and I am glad to see that you are so discreet. But it
can be managed in this way: Take a pen and go to that other table
and write the address on the letter. I will call in my servant and
tell him to take it from you and to deliver it at once, and ask
for a reply to the person from Beerholt. That is, if that is the
password to him also. He shall deliver the reply to you, and I will
give you my promise that I will never ask him afterwards to whom
he took the letter."
Ned felt that this would be the best course he could adopt, and
addressed the letter at once. The count touched a bell and the
lackey again entered.
"Take that letter at once," the count said, motioning to the letter
Ned held in his hand. "You will deliver it yourself, and ask that
an answer may be given to you for the person from Beerholt. Wait
for that answer and bring it back here."
After the servant had gone the count chatted with Ned as to the
state of affairs in Holland, and asked him many questions about
himself. It was an hour and a half before the servant returned. He
was advancing with the letter to the count, when the latter motioned
to him to hand it to Ned.
"Is there nothing else that I can do for you?" he asked. "How do
you intend to travel back through the country? Surely not in that
dress?"
"No, sir; I was thinking of procuring another."
"It might be difficult for you to get one," the count said. "I will
manage that for you;" and he again touched the bell. "Philip," he
said to the lackey, "I need a suit of your clothes; a quiet plain
suit, such as you would use if you rode on an errand for me. Bring
them here at once, and order a new suit for yourself.
"He is but little taller than you are," he went on when the man
had retired, "and his clothes will, I doubt not, fit you. You have
not got a horse, I suppose?"
"No, sir."
"Which way are you going back?"
"I shall take the Antwerp road."
"There is a clump of trees about three miles along that road," the
count said. "Philip shall be there with a horse for you at any hour
that you like to name."
"I thank you greatly, count. I will be there at nine in the morning.
I shall sally out in my present dress, leave the road a mile or
so from the town, and find some quiet place where I can put on the
suit you have furnished me with, and then walk on to the wood."
"Very well; you shall find the horse there at that hour without
fail. You are a brave lad, and have carried out your task with
great discretion. I hope some day to see you again by the side of
the Prince of Orange."
A minute later the lackey returned with a bundle containing the
suit of clothes. Ned placed it in his basket.
"Goodbye, and a good journey," the count said. Ned followed the
lackey, whom the count had told him had been born on his estate,
and could be implicitly trusted, down the stairs, and then made
his way without interruption to his lodging.
"Welcome back," the countess exclaimed, as he entered. "We have
prayed for you much today, but I began to fear that harm had befallen
you; for it is already growing dark, and I thought you would have
been here two or three hours since. How have you sped?"
"Excellently well, madam. I have delivered all the letters, and
have obtained answers, in all cases but one, by word of mouth. That
one is in writing; but I shall commit it to heart, and destroy it
at once. Then, if I am again searched, I shall not be in so perilous
a position as before."
He opened the letter and read it. As he had expected, it was
written with extreme caution, and in evidently a feigned hand; no
names either of places or persons were mentioned. The writer simply
assured "his good cousin" of his goodwill, and said that owing to
the losses he had had in business from the troubled times, he could
not say at present how much he could venture to aid him in the new
business on which he had embarked.
After reading it through, Ned threw the paper into the fire.
"He did not feel sure as to whom he was writing," he said, "and
feared treachery. However, as I have obtained nine answers, I need
not mind if this be but a poor one. Now, madam, I am ready to start
at half past seven in the morning. I have been furnished with another
disguise, to put on when I get beyond the walls; and a horse is to
be in waiting for me at a point three miles away; so that I hope
I shall be able to make my way back without much difficulty."
Accordingly in the morning, after many thanks to the Countess Von
Harp for her kindness, and the expression of his sincerest hope that
they might meet again, either in England or Holland, Ned started
on his way. On reaching one of the streets leading to the gate he
fell in behind a group of country people, who, having early disposed
of the produce they had brought to market, were making their way
home. Among them was a lad of about his own age; and on reaching the
gate two soldiers at once stepped forward and seized him, to the
surprise and consternation of himself and his friends. The soldiers
paid no heed to the outcry, but shouted to someone in the guard
house, and immediately a man whom Ned recognized as one of the
warders who had attended him in prison came out.
"That is not the fellow," he said, after a brief look at the captive.
"He is about the same age, but he is much fairer than our fellow,
and in no way like him in face."
Ned did not wait to hear the result of the examination, but at once
passed on out of the gate with the country people unconnected with
the captive. A minute or two later the latter with his friends
issued forth. Ned kept about halfway between the two parties until
he reached a lane branching off from the road in the direction in
which he wished to go. Following this for a mile he came into the
Ghent road, and had no difficulty in finding the place where he had
hidden his money. Going behind a stack of corn, a short distance
away, he changed his clothes; and pushing the female garments well
into the stack, went on his way again, well pleased to be once more
in male attire.
The clothes fitted him well, and were of a sober colour, such as
a trusty retainer of a noble house would wear upon a journey. He
retraced his steps until again on the road to Antwerp, and followed
this until he came to the clump of trees. Here the count's servant
was awaiting him with two horses. He smiled as Ned came up.
"If it had not been my own clothes you are wearing, I should not
have known you again," he said. "The count bade me ask you if you
had need of money? If so, I was to hand you this purse."
"Give my thanks to the count," Ned replied, "and say that I am well
furnished."
"Not in all respects, I think," the man said.
Ned thought for a minute.
"No," he said. "I have no arms."
The man took a brace of pistols from the holsters of his own horse
and placed them in those on Ned's saddle, and then unbuckled his
sword belt and handed it to Ned.
"It is ill travelling unarmed in the Netherlands at present," he
said. "What with the Spaniards and the Germans, and the peasants who
have been driven to take to a robber's life, no man should travel
without weapons. The count bade me give you these, and say he was
sure you would use them well if there should be need."
Ned leaped into the saddle, and with sincere thanks to the man
galloped off towards Antwerp. Unless ill fortune should again throw
him in the way of Von Aert he now felt safe; and he had no fear
that this would be the case, for they would be devoting their whole
energy to the search for him in Brussels. He burst into a fit of
hearty laughter as he rode along, at the thought of the fury the
councillor must have been thrown into when, upon his return home,
he discovered that he had given away the wrong packet of letters.
He would have been angry enough before at the escape of the captive
he was himself watching, and the loss thereby of the means upon
which he had reckoned to discover the ownership of the letters,
and so to swell the list of victims. Still he doubtless consoled
himself at the thought that he was sure before many hours to have
his prisoner again in his power, and that, after all, annoying as
it was, the delay would be a short one indeed. But when he took
the packet from his pocket, and discovered that he had given up the
all important documents, and had retained a packet of blank paper,
he must have seen at once that he was foiled. He might recapture
the prisoner, torture him, and put him to death; but his first
step would of course have been to destroy the precious letters,
and there would be no evidence forthcoming against those for whom
they were intended, and who were doubtless men of considerable
standing and position, and not to be assailed upon the mere avowal
extracted by torture from a boy and unsupported by any written
proofs.
"That evil looking clerk of his will come in for a share of his
displeasure," Ned thought to himself. "I believe that he is worse
than his master, and will take it sorely to heart at having been
tricked by a boy. I should have scant mercy to expect should I ever
fall into their hands again."
Ned rode through the city of Mechlin without drawing rein. It was
but a month since that it had been the scene of the most horrible
butchery, simply because it had opened its gates to the Prince of
Orange on his forward march to attempt the relief of Mons. A few of
the prince's German mercenaries had been left there as a garrison.
These fired a few shots when the Spanish army approached, and
then fled in the night, leaving the town to the vengeance of the
Spaniards. In the morning a procession of priests and citizens went
out to beg for pardon, but the Spaniards rushed into the town and
began a sack and a slaughter that continued for three days.
The churches, monasteries, and religious houses of every kind,
as well as those of the private citizens, were sacked; and the
desecration of the churches by the fanatics of Antwerp, for which
hundreds of heretics had been burnt to death, was now repeated a
thousand fold by the Roman Catholic soldiers of Philip. The ornaments
of the altars, the chalices, curtains, carpets, gold embroidered
robes of the priests, the repositories of the Host, the precious
vessels used in extreme unction, the rich clothing and jewelry
of the effigies of the Virgin and saints were all plundered. The
property of the Catholic citizens was taken as freely as that of
the Protestants; of whom, indeed, there were few in the city. Men,
women, and children were murdered wholesale in the streets.
Even the ultra Catholic Jean Richardot, member of the Grand Council,
in reporting upon the events, ended his narration by saying "He
could say no more, for his hair stood on end, not only at recounting,
but even at remembering the scene." The survivors of the sack were
moving listlessly about the streets of the ruined city as Ned rode
through. Great numbers had died of hunger after the conclusion of
the pillage; for no food was to be obtained, and none dare leave
their houses until the Spanish and German troops had departed. Zutphen
had suffered a vengeance even more terrible than that of Mechlin.
Alva had ordered his son Frederick, who commanded the army that
marched against it, to leave not a single man alive in the city,
and to burn every house to the ground; and the orders were literally
obeyed. The garrison were first put to the sword, and then the
citizens were attacked and slaughtered wholesale. Some were stripped
naked and turned out to freeze to death in the fields. Five hundred
were tied back to back and drowned in the river. Some were hung
up by their feet, and suffered for many hours until death came to
their relief.
Ned put up at Antwerp for the night. The news of the destruction
of Zutphen, and of the horrors perpetrated there, had arrived
but a few hours before, and a feeling of the most intense horror
and indignation filled the inhabitants; but none dared to express
what every one felt. The fate of Mechlin and Zutphen was as Alva
had meant it to be, a lesson so terrible, that throughout the
Netherlands, save in Holland and Zeeland alone, the inhabitants
were palsied by terror. Had one great city set the example and risen
against the Spaniards, the rest would have followed; but none dared
be the first to provoke so terrible a vengeance. Men who would have
risked their own lives shrank from exposing their wives and children
to atrocities and death. It seemed that conflict was useless. Van
der Berg, a brother-in-law of the Prince of Orange, who had been
placed by the prince as Governor of Guelderland and Overyssel,
fled by night, and all the cities which had raised the standard of
Orange deserted the cause at once. Friesland, too, again submitted
to the Spanish yoke.
Ned, after putting up his horse at a hotel at Antwerp, sauntered
out into the streets. Antwerp at that time was one of the finest and
wealthiest towns in Europe. Its public buildings were magnificent,
the town hall a marvel of architectural beauty. He stood in the
great square admiring its beauties and those of the cathedral when
he was conscious of some one staring fixedly at him, and he could
scarce repress a start when he saw the malicious face of Genet,
the clerk of Councillor Von Aert. His first impulse was to fly,
but the square was full of burghers, with many groups of Spanish
soldiers sauntering about; he could not hope to escape.
He saw by the expression on Genet's face that as yet he was not
sure of his identity. He had before seen him only as a country boy,
and in his present attire his appearance was naturally a good deal
changed. Still the fixed stare of the man showed that his suspicions
were strongly aroused, and Ned felt sure that it would not be
long before he completely recognized him. Nothing could be more
unfortunate than that this man whom he had believed to be diligently
searching for him in Brussels should thus meet him in the streets
of Antwerp. Turning the matter over rapidly in his mind he saw but
one hope of escape. He sauntered quietly up to a group of soldiers.
"My friends," he said, "do you want to earn a few crowns?"
"That would we right gladly," one of them replied, "seeing that
His Gracious Majesty has forgotten to pay us for well nigh a year."
"There is a hang dog villain with a squint, in a russet cloak and
doublet, just behind me." Ned said. "I have had dealings with him,
and know him and his master to be villains. He claims that I am
in debt to his master, and it may be that it is true; but I have
particular reasons for objecting to be laid by the heels for it
just now."
"That is natural enough," the soldier said. "I have experienced
the same unpleasantness, and can feel for you."
"See here, then," Ned said. "Here are ten crowns, which is two
apiece for you. Now, I want you to hustle against that fellow, pick
a quarrel with him and charge him with assaulting you, and drag him
away to the guard house. Give him a slap on the mouth if he cries
out, and throw him into a cell, and let him cool his heels there
till morning. That will give me time to finish my business and be
off again into the country."
"That can be managed easily enough," the soldier said with a laugh.
"He is an ill favoured looking varlet; and is, I doubt not, a
pestilent heretic. It would be a pleasure to cuff him even without
your honor's crowns."
"Here is the money, then," Ned said; "but, above all, as I have
said, do not let him talk or cry out or make a tumult. Nip him
tightly by the neck."
"We know our business," the soldier said. "You can rely on us to
manage your affair."
Ned sauntered quietly on. In a minute or two he heard a loud and
sudden altercation, then there was the sound of blows, and looking
round he saw two of the soldiers shaking Genet violently. The man
endeavoured to shout to the crowd; but one of the soldiers smote
him heavily on the mouth, and then surrounding him they dragged
him away. "That is very satisfactorily done," Ned said to himself,
"and it is by no means likely that Master Genet will get a hearing
before tomorrow morning. He will be pushed into a cell in the
guard room on the charge of brawling and insolence, and it is not
probable that anyone will go near him till the morning. I certainly
should like to peep in and have a look at him. His rage would be
good to see; and he has been instrumental in sending such hundreds
of men to prison that one would like to see how he feels now that
it is his turn. Still I must not count too surely upon having time.
He may possibly find some officers who will listen to his tale,
although I do not think he is likely to do that; but still it would
be foolish to risk it, and I will mount my horse and ride on at
once."
The ostler was somewhat surprised when Ned told him that he had
changed his mind, and that, instead of remaining for the night at
Antwerp, he should ride forward at once. As Ned paid him handsomely
for the feed the horse had had he made no remark, and Ned mounted
and rode out through the town by the gate through which he had
entered. Then he made a wide detour round the town, and rode on along
the bank of the river until he came to a ferry. Here he crossed,
and then rode on until he reached a village, where he resolved to
stop the night, being now off the main roads, and therefore fairly
safe from pursuit, even should Genet be able to satisfy his captors
that a mistake had been made, and that those who captured him had
in fact been aiding a fugitive to escape from justice.
The host of the little inn apologized for the poor fare that was
set before him, on the ground of the exactions of the soldiers.
"One can scarcely call one's life one's own," he grumbled. "A body
of them rode into the village yesterday and stripped it clear of
everything, maltreating all who ventured even to remonstrate. They
came from Antwerp, I believe; but there is no saying, and even if
we knew them it would be useless to make complaints."
Ned assured his host that he was very indifferent in the matter of
food.
"In these days," he said, "if one can get a piece of bread one may
think one's self lucky. But you have, I hope, sufficient forage
for my horse."
"Yes," the landlord replied; "their horses ate as much as they
could, but they could not carry off my supply of corn. Indeed the
horses were pretty well laden as it was with ducks and geese. I
let them have as much wine as they could drink, and of the best, so
they did not trouble to go down into the cellar. If they had they
would likely enough have broached all the casks and let the wine
run. There is nothing that these fellows are not capable of; they
seem to do mischief out of pure devilment."
Ned had scarcely finished his meal when a tramping of horses was
heard outside.
"The saints protect us!" the landlord exclaimed. "Here are either
these fellows coming back again, or another set doubtless just as
bad."
A minute later the door opened and a party of a dozen soldiers
entered.
"Wine, landlord! and your best!" a sergeant said. "Some comrades
who called here yesterday told us that your tap was good, so we
have ridden over to give you a turn."
The landlord groaned.
"Gracious, sirs," he said, "I am but a poor man, and your comrades
on parting forgot to settle for their wine. Another two or three
visits, and I am ruined."
A volley of impatient oaths at once broke out, and without further
hesitation the terrified landlord hurried away, and returned loaded
with flasks of wine, upon which the soldiers were speedily engaged.
"And who may you be, young sir?" one of them asked Ned, who was
sitting at a small table apart from the rest.
"I am simply a traveller," Ned replied, "engaged upon my master's
business."
"You are a likely looking young fellow too," the soldier said, "and
would have made a good soldier if you had had the chance, instead
of jogging about doing your lord's bidding; but I warrant me you
are no better than the rest of your countrymen, and do not know
one end of a sword from the other."
"I am not skilled in arms," Ned replied, "though my experience
goes a little further than you say; but as you gentlemen protect
the Netherlands, and we have no army of our own, I have not had
the opportunity, even had I wished it, to become a soldier."
"Move over here," the soldier said, "and join us in a cup to the
honour of Philip and confusion to the Prince of Orange and all
traitors."
"I will join you in drinking to Philip, for in truth he is a great
monarch and a powerful, and I will also drink to the confusion of
all traitors whomsoever they may be."
"You are all traitors at heart," one of the Spaniards who had not
before spoken, put in. "There is not a native of the Netherlands
but would rise against us tomorrow."
"I think that is true speaking," said Ned quietly. "There are many
traitors in the Netherlands I grant you, but there are others to
whom your words can hardly apply."
"They are all the same," the soldier said angrily. "Knaves every
one of them. However, before we have done with them we will reduce
their number."
Ned did not reply; but having drank the glass of wine, returned
to his seat, and shortly afterwards, when the soldiers began to
quarrel among themselves, slipped from the room. The landlord was
outside, pacing anxiously up and down.
"Are there any more of them in the village?" Ned asked.
"Not that I know of," he answered; "and to me it makes no difference.
They will stay here swilling my wine all night, and in the morning
like enough will set fire to my house before they ride away. I
have just sent off my wife and daughters to be out of their reach.
As for myself, I am half minded to mix poison with their wine and
finish with them."
"That would only bring down vengeance upon yourself," Ned said.
"Some would probably escape and tell the tale. At any rate, as there
are so large a number there would be sure to be inquiry when they
were found to be missing, and no doubt they mentioned to some of
their friends before they started where they were coming to, and
inquiry would be made. You could never get rid of all their bodies.
Besides, doubtless others in the village heard them ride up, and
know that they have been here; so you could not escape detection.
It is better to put up with them."
"Yes, if there were only these fellows; but you will see that
another party will come, and another, until I am entirely ruined."
"If you think that, I would in the morning shut up my house and
depart, and not return until these troubles are over."
"And then come back and find my house burned down," the innkeeper
groaned.
"Better that than to see yourself gradually ruined, and perhaps
lose your life," Ned said.
"There is nowhere to go to," the innkeeper said with a shake of
his head.
"You might do as many others have done," Ned replied, "and go to
Holland, where at least you would be safe."
"But not for long," the man said. "The army will soon be on the
march in that direction, and my fate there would be worse than
here. Here I am only an innkeeper to be fleeced; there I should be
regarded as a heretic to be burnt. Listen to them. They are fighting
now. Do you hear my mugs crashing? I only hope that they will kill
each other to the last man. I should advise you, sir, to be off at
once. They may take it into their heads that you are some one it
behooves them to slay, it matters not whom; and you would certainly
get no sleep here tonight if you stay."
"That is true enough," Ned agreed; "and perhaps it would be the
best way for me to get on horseback again, but I know not the road,
and might likely enough miss it altogether, and drown myself in
one of your ditches."
"I will send my boy with you to put you on to the road," the landlord
said. "I sent him out to sleep in the stables, so as to be out of
the way of these desperadoes. He will walk beside your horse until
you get into the main road."
Ned willingly accepted the proposal, for indeed he felt that
there might be danger in remaining in the house with these drunken
soldiers. He accordingly paid his reckoning, and was soon on
horseback again, with the landlord's son, a boy of some ten years
old, walking beside him. In half an hour they came upon a broad
road.
"This," the lad said, "will take you to St. Nicholas."
Ned gave the boy a crown for his trouble, and rode slowly along.
He had no idea of entering St. Nicholas, for it was now nigh eleven
o'clock at night, and the arrival of a traveller at such an hour
would be sure to attract attention. The night, too, was dark, and
he could scarce see the road he was following. After thinking it
over for some time he dismounted, led his horse a distance from
the road, fastened the reins to a bush, and threw himself down on
the ground to wait for daylight. The night was cold, and a fine
rain was falling. Ned got up from time to time and walked about
to keep himself warm, and was heartily glad when he saw the first
rays of daylight in the east.
After waiting for half an hour he mounted, and after riding a few
miles entered a large village. Thinking that it would be safer
than at St. Nicholas, he halted here. It was still raining, and the
drenched state of his clothes therefore excited no comment beyond
the host's remark, "You must have started early to have got so
wet?"
"Yes," he said, "I was up before daylight. I have a change of clothes
in my saddlebag, and shall be glad to put them on. Will you order
your man to give my horse a good rub down, and let him have a hot
mash. How far am I from Ghent now?"
"If you have come from Antwerp, sir, you have come just halfway."
Ned changed his clothes and had some breakfast, and then as he sat
by the fire the feeling of warmth and comfort after his long and
cold night overpowered him, and he went fast to sleep.