tell my story. So there I sat biting my lips till they bled, but
not missing a word of the conversation going on near me and the
rogues kept chattering on and complimenting themselves on their
stroke of genius. Then they drained their glasses, got up and
would have gone out only they were detained at the door by
great to-do. A lad was being brought in on the shoulders of two
strapping youths and a loud hurrah went up when the topers in the
tavern spotted him. The lad in question was the cabin boy from
the Immaculate Conception, who alone had survived out of the whole
crew and had made his way to land through mad perambulations via
sea and air. Everyone wanted to see this lad. Everyone wanted
to talk to him and they all pressed up against him, reaching out
to him their tankards and jugs. I thought it best to make use
of this diversion to slip away unnoticed. I crept out keeping as
close as possible to the walls and had almost got to the door
when it was my misfortune to catch the eye of the cabin boy, who
was still crouching on the shoulders of his carriers. The lad
stared at me as if he had seen a ghost, went white as chalk and
shouted at the top of his voice: "Help! Help! Ecco! Ecco!
He's one of them! Help! Arrest him!" "Who is? What's all
this?" the customers bellow and each of them looks at the lad
and their neighbours. "There, there, where the table is. Arrest
him. He's one of those sea beggars, the one who struck down
Captain Perazzo, one of the crew of the black galley." What
came next was pandemonium. All eyes were focused on me. All
swords flew out of their sheaths. I too had got my knife out
to sell my life if needs be as dearly as possible. Now they
threw themselves at me, but I was faster on my feet than they
were, grabbed the nearest bench and flung it at the feet of the
first wave of attackers so that a pile of them stumbled over it
and fell against one another onto the floor. I made use of
this brief opportunity to jump into the thick of it, hitting out
to right and left with my knife into upturned faces. I reached
the door. I was outside in the street. Behind me I could hear
the noise of my pursuers. Thanks be to God that I know Antwerp
like the back of my hand. I get chased all over the place, but
I manage to lose them with adroit twists and turns. I take them
down blind alleys and double back on myself. On the quayside all
is still. My trusty key opens up a well-known door and I've
taken refuge here, Myga, in order to rescue you. But still they
didn't give up hope of hanging a sea beggar. The whole of the
garrison came after me if truth be known. A great honour, men!
Thank you most kindly!"
Jan Norris listened with a laugh on his lips. Myga van Bergen
trembled at the noise in the streets below.
"Dearest, dearest Jan, are you quite sure that no-one has seen
you come into this house? Listen. They're coming this way.
Oh God, look out of the window--torches and spears--heaven above,
they're knocking on the door. They're looking for you, Jan.
Lord have mercy on us. We're lost. We're lost."
The front door flew open, people appeared to be forcing their
way into the house. Jan Norris gritted his teeth and seized his
knife by the hilt.
"Calm down, calm down. It's not possible. Calm down, Myga."
"They're coming. They're coming," screamed Myga. "They're
coming upstairs. They're going to find you. Jan, Jan, let me
die at your side!"
The young man was as pale as death.
"How could I have been so careless as to endanger you, Myga?
That was an awful thing to do. By my oath as a sea beggar,
they really are coming upstairs. What's to become of you,
Myga?"
"Let me die at your side, Jan!" breathed Myga, clinging to
the chest of her betrothed.
IV.
The Raid.
Not only was Leone della Rota at home in the Alcantara Arms,
but in all the taverns of an Antwerp full of drinking dens.
He had dragged his friend and captain, Antonio Valani, on this
particular evening to the Golden Lion, and reluctantly, as
usual, the captain had followed him there.
Who could resist Leone della Rota when he had a plan to put into
action?
More reckless than malicious, the young lieutenant looked upon
the world as a great playground and the war as a splendid chance
to execute daring schemes unhindered. He saw the abduction of
the poor small abandoned orphan, Myga, as a daring, playful
scheme, an honourable thing as far as he was concerned, and had
taken it into his addled pate to carry it out only after having
convinced his friend with difficulty to agree to it. What did
this Genoese good-for-nothing care about the affairs of the
rebel provinces and His Spanish Catholic Majesty? Heretic women
could be very pretty and female members of the one true church
extremely ugly. Leone definitely preferred charming heretics to
ugly Catholics and did all that he could not to depart from the
old proverb that went the rounds in Italy about his home town,
namely that Genoa has a sea without fish, a landscape without
trees and men who cannot be trusted.
In the Golden Lion he had, as we know already from the tale told
by Jan Norris, made the final arrangements with Antonio Valani as
to the planned abduction. If this came off and the Andrea Doria
got back safely from its expedition, the black galley would either
have been taken as a prize or sunk. Who would dare then to point
the finger at the victors? If the galleon did not come back, then
its last deed would have been worthy of its end. The possibility
of a third state of affairs, in which the Andrea Doria returned
home without having seen the enemy ship, was unthinkable and held
by Leone della Rota to be beneath his dignity. The captain allowed
himself to be led by Leone however and wherever he wished.
The two friends from Genoa had taken not the slightest part in
the pursuit of the bold sea beggar. They wandered arm in arm
through the streets in which an excited crowd was milling in the
direction of the quayside.
"We'd have been fools to have run after that scoundrel!" laughed
Leone. "Leave it to others to chase that audacious beggar. By
the doves of Aphrodite, since I've been serving the formerly cold
Antonio Valani as a pathfinder in the magic kingdom of love, my
soul hovers high over this land of mists. Oh Love, tamer of hearts,
I follow your battle standard, oh goddess of Cythera, place us under
your divine protection!"
"I beg you, Leone, be sensible. Don't be a fool. I'm in a strange
mood. In all my life I have never had such a feeling in my breast.
Leone, it's as if--Leone, all day and all night I have such strange
thoughts. Leone, be prepared, perhaps you will soon take over from
me as captain of the Andrea Doria..."
"And you'll be a rear admiral to Federigo Spinola."
"Or a corpse at the bottom of the sea," murmured the captain.
"What? Thoughts of death? Thoughts of death under the window of
the girl of your dreams?" laughed the lieutenant. "By all that's
holy, that's a splendid thought. Would that I were Petrarch to
compose a sonnet on this wonderful mood. Look, you dreamer, here
we are directly under the window of your beloved--her light is
still shining--what a thought! Antonio Valani, friend of my youth,
to scare away your intimations of mortality, let's now, right this
minute, pay a visit to the sweet child who lives up there."
"Leone!"
"Let's search her house. All mad ideas would be most welcome!
Forward in the name of the king! Forward in the name of love!"
"Leone! Leone!"
"Let me be," snorted the lieutenant. "I ask you, can the beggar
that these boorish fellows are looking for not just as easily have
crept into the lodging of the little one as into any of the other
houses of this town? Forward, Antonio, you worry too much. We'll
carry out a house search of your fair beloved's and familiarize
ourselves thereby with the position of the house for tomorrow
night."
Before the captain could hold his wild friend back, the latter
had dashed to Myga's door against which he pounded with his fist,
calling out in a loud voice:
"Open up! Open up! Open in the name of His Catholic Majesty of
Spain! Open up! Traitors and enemies have sought shelter in this
house!"
Immediately there streamed from all sides soldiers, sailors and
citizens of Antwerp towards the door that led to Myga's lodging.
The crowd of people grew from one moment to the next. Half in
desperation Captain Valani tried to put a stop to the noise being
made by his crazy friend, but it was already too late. The front
door opened and the inhabitants of the building in which Myga
lived, a carpenter, a cobbler and a town clerk, along with their
families and companions, a widow with several children, cowered
fearfully in their corners, horrified by the thought that one of
the Dutch rebels must have sought shelter under their roof. Only
a bent very old woman strode bravely forth with a lamp in her
trembling hand in the direction of the intruders and insisted in
a screeching voice that no-one had slipped into the house and
certainly not a sea devil from Zeeland. God forbid she should
grant protection to any of the sea beggars--had not her husband,
her poor departed husband, been thrown from his fishing smack
into the water by those raging pirates and come to a wretched
end? But what good were her asseverations? Nobody listened to
them and the house was full of Spanish soldiers, Italian sailors
and the dregs of the streets. Cries of fear and woe rang out
from the various dwellings. There were a few beatings-up and a
certain amount of harassment accompanied by some plundering.
"Forward, Antonio! Don't hold back!" cried Leone. "Forward
and upward to a realm of heavenly bliss!"
He was holding the old woman by the collar and forcing her to
light the way with her lamp making merry threats the while.
"Cheerfully, cheerfully, little mother! The others are looking
down below. We are going to look upstairs--forward and don't
be so prudish. I'm not looking at your calves. Hey, Antonio,
don't get left behind, will you?"
"Leone, for heaven's sake!"
"Che importanza? Keep going, fair maid. What a rabbit you
are, Antonio, when it comes to such a sweet adventure! What
would become of you if you didn't have me with you? Well,
that seems to be the last step. We've made it! Here, here,
Antonello--in the name of the king, open up, open up! Traitors
and beautiful women have hidden themselves away in here. Open
up! Open up in the name of the king! In the name of His
Catholic Majesty of Spain, come out of your nest, pretty bird,
open up and let us see your sweet rebel heart!"
With his mouth wreathed in smiles the madman caught the captain
by the shoulder and pushed him towards the door, which he threw
wide open. The two natives of Genoa stood there dumbfounded,
scarcely able to believe their eyes!
Jan and Myga had been listening to the noise in the streets
with growing apprehension and alarm. When pandemonium finally
broke loose in the house, Myga had begged Jan in desperation to
hide.
But what could happen for both of them to be saved?
The next minute it was all too late. Leone della Rota had
climbed the stairs all too quickly.
In his left arm Jan Norris grasped the unconscious Myga while
his right hand reached convulsively for naked steel. He did
not know what he had to be about as all presence of mind had
deserted him in those last frightful few seconds. And besides
what good would any amount of presence of mind have been to him?
Jan Norris and Myga van Bergen were lost as far as human reason
was concerned.
"In the name of all the devils, what's all this?" cried the
Genoese lieutenant. "Well, that's not bad. That's a strange
encounter for sure. That's what I call killing two birds with
one stone. Antonio Valani, now you can win your fair dove for
yourself. Have you not allowed yourself to dream of having such
a rival? Down with the beggar! To the gallows with him!"
Genoese swords flew from their scabbards.
"God protect you, Myga!" shouted Jan Norris, swinging his own
blade. "Get back, you foreign rogues!"
Uttering the beggars' piercing cry: "Sultan before Pope!" the
helmsman of the black galley eluded the guard of Leone della
Rota's sword, stabbed out and with a cry Antonio Valani, the
captain of the Andrea Doria turned and stumbled, his sword
falling clattering from his hand and with it Antonio valani
himself. The sea beggar leapt over the body of the Genoan while
a second thrust merely grazed the lieutenant's left shoulder.
Sailors from the Andrea Doria invaded the stairs, brandishing
their ship's knives. A wild and bloody struggle developed in
a confined space and all this time Myga van Bergen lay unconscious
on the floor. Spanish and Albanian soldiers added to the turmoil,
lamps and torches went out, glimmered on the floor and were re-lit.
Few people knew what was really going on and when suddenly the cry:
"Fire! Fire!" echoed through the house, the confused throng fled
in panic and back down the stairs. Dense choking smoke filled all
the rooms in the house and through it the Genoese sailors dragged
their mortally wounded captain and the chained sea beggar, Jan
Norris! Leone della Rota carried the senseless Myga through the
smoke down to the street where a new fight was threatening to
break out between the sailors of the Andrea Doria and Spanish
soldiers who tried to wrest their prisoner away from the former.
But a drumroll proclaimed the arrival of a high-ranking officer
to whom Leone reported insofar as the trance-like state he found
himself in allowed him to. The Spaniard airily expressed the
opinion that the best thing would be to carry the wounded captain,
the sea beggar and the woman aboard ship, then early the following
morning all would be ready for the trial and anyway the prisoner
deserved to be hanged from a yardarm as a pirate so that his
immediate removal to the galleon was, from this point of view too,
the most fitting solution to the problem.
The crowd was thronging round the quayside down below. Torches
cast light on the wild procession and projected their flickering
reflections over the wounded Antonio, the unconscious Myga and
Jan Norris in chains who allowed himself to be dragged along by
his fierce foes apathetically. Still Leone della Rota was holding
Myga in his arms, but without understanding how this had come
about. Everything was turning around and around in his head. As
if in a dream he carried his light burden on to the galleon.
In the cabin a place was prepared for the wounded captain. A
surgeon came to examine the injuries of the still unconscious
Antonio and to shake his head over them. Myga van Bergen crouched
in a corner of the cabin with no-one, for the time being, bothering
about her. The helmsman of the black galley was chained to the
main mast and his pitiless enemies surrounded him sneering.
Only late on did the tumult die down in the town, after the fire
in the burning house behind the sea wall had been extinguished.
Earlier it was quiet on board the Andrea Doria. Antonio lay
motionless in the place assigned to him and Leone sat equally
motionless next to him while Myga crouched in the darkest, most
far away corner of the cabin. Over the whole ship scarcely a
sound could be heard other than the murmur of the river, the
noise of the rigging swaying in the wind and the pacing of the
sentry who, with a loaded musket and a slow-burning match walked
up and down before the prisoner chained to the mast and did not
take his eyes off him for an instant.
At two o'clock in the morning the wind died down completely and
even the creaking noise made by the rigging ceased. It was as
silent as the grave aboard the Andrea Doria--a deep silence that
was suddenly and all the more spinetinglingly broken by a shout
and the noise of a shot.
Out of the cabin rushed Leone della Rota onto the deck. From
their bunks and hammocks rushed out ordinary sailors.
The place formerly occupied by the prisoner at the main mast was
empty. The sentry stood there with a smoking musket, casting
around him confused glances, besieged by the questions and the
oaths of both officers and crew.
"There he is, there! Man overboard!" went up the hoarse cry
from the chest of the dumbfounded man.
"Where? Where? Where?"
Everyone rushed to the side of the ship.
"Down with the boats! Quickly! Quickly!" rapped the lieutenant's
commanding voice.
It was lively on the Scheldt where lights were shining through
the night, but the nights are dark in November. A corpse heading
downstream was fished out of the water, but it was not that of Jan
Norris. Going downriver, on both banks, alarm signals were flying,
but the efforts of all the ships' boats sent out from Antwerp were
in vain.
Had Jan Norris been rescued? Had he been killed by the waves?
Who could say?
But how Myga van Bergen sat up in her corner listening when she
heard that her beloved had burst free from his bonds and jumped
over the side.
Morning broke, but it brought no news of the sea beggar who had
escaped.
On the deck of the Andrea Doria Leone della Rota walked backwards
and forwards with arms folded and whispered to himself:
"If only he hadn't said it! He'll die and it'll be all my fault.
Oh Antonio! Poor Antonio! He predicted this. Me as captain of
the Andrea Doria, himself a corpse at the bottom of the sea."
The lieutenant stopped.
"And yet, Leone, will the same fate not befall you yourself perhaps
soon, maybe even tomorrow? Who fears death? Death is annihilation.
Long live life! Here comes the sun. I can breathe freely again and
clouds of blood disappear from before my eyes! I want to toast the
morning in the fiery wine of Syracuse, even should it prove to be
the last morning I ever see!"
The cabin boy brought a full tumbler of the exquisite wine.
Della Rota lifted it towards the blazing solar sphere, emptied it
at a single swallow and flung the glass far away from him into the
river, putting his foot firmly down on the planking of the deck.
"Captain on board the Andrea Doria," he said, and almost inaudibly,
he added: "Captain of the Andrea Doria and Myga, the crown of all
the maids of Flanders, mine, all mine!"
V.
Fevered Dreams.
For the third time since the night in which the garrison of Fort
Liefkenhoek perceived the exchange of cannon fire between the black
galley and the Immaculate Conception and the explosion of that ship,
evening fell, a still and unusually warm evening. People who knew
about weather were of the opinion that there would be an ample fall
of snow before too long and they may well have been right. After
the early morning sun had risen brightly in a cloudless sky, it had
around midday crept behind heavy grey clouds. These clouds had
become more and more closely packed and in the evening had sunk
more and more deeply over the town of Antwerp, over land, river and
sea.
Once again we find ourselves on the Genoese ship, the Andrea Doria,
in the captain's cabin.
The hanging lamp throws its ruddy light over the room, over the
weapons therein, the maps on the wall, the floor on which bloody
bedclothes lie strewn about, on the bed where Antonio Valani moans
and rambles in a raging fever, on Myga van Bergen kneeling where
the pillows are at the end of the bed, on lieutenant Leone della
Rota who is standing next to where his friend is dying and wild,
strange glances cast by the wounded man towards the forcibly taken
maid.
At noon Leone della Rota had heard with equanimity from Admiral
Spinola and the governor of Antwerp that the escape of the sea
beggar was attributable to him. With somewhat less equanimity he
had also received the news that, in the absence of someone more
suitable, he was to be entrusted with the overall command of the
Genoese galleon for the expedition of the following day.
Neither the governor nor the admiral had inquired after the presence
of a young woman on board ship.
As he had had a lot of work to do both on board and on land, the
day had flown by for Lieutenant della Rota and he had only been able
to devote a small amount of time to his dying friend. But on board
and on land, indeed everywhere, the young Genoan was pursued by the
image of the beautiful Flemish damsel whom he was currently holding
captive on his ship, who would be subject to his every whim, without
the slightest vestige of protection, once his friend was dead. At
first he sought to banish all such thoughts from his mind, but time
and again they forced themselves upon him and there was no way that
he could escape them and soon he gave up the struggle completely.
The pretty child appeared to him in her desperation all the more
charming. Among the sailors and men-at-arms, in the admiral's
antechamber, in the streets of the town she appeared in his mind's
eye as he saw her kneeling in a cabin of the Andrea Doria, wringing
her hands. The wildest of passions broke out inside him in bright
flames and he sought to overcome with the most convoluted sophistry
the resistance of his conscience.
What earthly use would it be to Antonio if he, Leone, were to send
this woman back to where she came from?
And now Leone recalled those moments during which he had held the
young woman's delicate body in his arms, during which he had carried
the unconscious girl through the gunsmoke and the streets. Then the
wind had blown the damsel's fair hair into his face.
"No, no, no, Antonio Valani, your right to this fair booty ceases
with your life! All's fair in love and war, Antonio Valani. Strike
your colours and pass away. Then your luck will devolve on me and
tomorrow, tomorrow I'll be defeated and someone else will have the
victory. All's fair in love and war, my poor Antonio!"
With such thoughts in his head the lieutenant had walked into the
cabin at twilight and now he stood, as we have shown him, between
the dying man and Myga all of a tremble in the glimmer of the
flickering ship's lantern.
The idea of carrying the wounded captain ashore had been mooted,
but with all the strength of a life about to be extinguished Antonio
Valani had expressly forbidden this. He wanted to die on board his
ship and not in a hospital. He had not forgotten in his delirium
that Leone had brought the Flemish maiden that he loved onto the
Andrea Doria. The nearer he is to death, the more he clings to this
love, the more violently it manifests itself. In life he might
almost have concealed it had his turbulent companion Leone della
Rota not meddled in it. As he lies dying, his brain casts off all
restraint; Antonio Valani no longer hides anything of what he has
formerly felt and kept a secret.
Poor Myga! See how she kneels there at the feet of the mortally
wounded captain with her hair spread out, white as a ghost, wringing
her hands! No salvation, none!
The waves of the Scheldt have swallowed up her betrothed, who was
impotent to prevent the depraved corruption of his beloved and who
had precipitated himself into the river's cold waters so as not to
participate in her dishonour.
And where is God in all this? Woe is me, the night is too dark
and the mind of the unfortunate maiden too disturbed to be able to
remember the great Redeemer from all of life's troubles. No power
on heaven or on earth can protect her from scandal and disgrace.
Poor Myga van Bergen!
The clock in the tower of the cathedral chimed eleven, the single
chimes succeeding one another slowly and echoing in Myga's mind.
The noise of the town gradually diminished again and once again
one light after another went out behind the city wall constructed
by the Italian civil engineer, Paciotti.
The calm grew ever deeper. From time to time, however, wild cries
and rejoicing rang out. From time to time too there came the raucous
singing of a stray band of soldiers or the cry of a nightwatchman and
the "Halt! Who goes there?" of patrols.
And once again the clock whirred in the tower of the Cathedral of
Our Lady--midnight!
Antonio Valani lifted himself up from his pillow and cast about him
mad glances from his eyes aglow with fever.
"Where is she? Leone, Leone--wine, lights and love! Leone, where
are you? Where are you holding her? Where are you keeping her
hidden? She's mine, you traitor, you treacherous Leone--the girl
belongs to me! Hahaha, I'm not dead like you thought, Leone. I'm
alive and holding on to what is mine."
Myga van Bergen's forehead was touching the floor of the cabin and
Lieutenant della Rota gently pushed the delirious man back onto his
bed and tried every way he could to calm him down, but it seemed as
if all the strength and feeling of the dying man had to burst out
afresh in all their fullness before they faded away forever.
Again and again the delirious Antonio tried to escape from the arms
of Leone.
"All hands on deck. To the oars! To the oars! Long live the king!
They're flying their flag--the sea beggars' flag. Fire at it! Fire
at it! Eviva Genova! There goes the admiral, blown to kingdom come!
Fire! Fire! It's a living hell! Leone, look after the ship. Look
after the ship, Leone. It's all over for us. Woe is me. The beggars'
flag. Man the guns. All is lost. All is lost. Look after the ship,
look after the ship, Leone!"
The sick man fell back. The lieutenant straightened his pillow for
him. Then he approached the kneeling maiden: