THE MOLENS
Less than half a league to the southeast of Ryswyk--there where the
Schie makes a sharp curve up toward the north--there is a solitary
windmill--strange in this, that it has no companions near it, but stands
quite alone with its adjoining miller's hut nestling close up against it
like a tiny chick beside the mother hen, and dominates the mud flats and
lean pastures which lie for many leagues around.
On this day which was the fourth of the New Year, these mud flats and
the pasture land lay under a carpet of half-melted snow and ice which
seemed to render the landscape more weird and desolate, and the molens
itself more deserted and solitary. Yet less than half a league away the
pointed gables and wooden spires of Ryswyk break the monotony of the
horizon line and suggest the life and movement pertaining to a city,
however small. But life and movement never seem to penetrate as far as
this molens; they spread their way out toward 'S Graven Hage and the
sea.
Nature herself hath decreed that the molens shall remain solitary and
cut off from the busy world, for day after day and night after night
throughout the year a mist rises from the mud flats around and envelops
the molens as in a shroud. In winter the mist is frosty, in summer at
times it is faintly tinged with gold, but it is always there and through
it the rest of the living world--Ryswyk and 'S Graven Hage and Delft
further away only appear as visions on the other side of a veil.
Just opposite the molens, some two hundred paces away to the east, the
waters of the Schie rush with unwonted swiftness round the curve; so
swiftly in fact that the ice hardly ever forms a thick crust over them,
and this portion of an otherwise excellent waterway is--in the
winter--impracticable for sleighs.
Beyond this bend in the river, however, less than half a league away,
there is a wooden bridge, wide and strongly built, across which it is
quite easy for men and beasts to pass who have come from the south and
desire to rejoin the great highway which leads from Delft to Leyden.
In the morning of that same fourth day in the New Year, two men sat
together in what was once the weighing-room of the molens; their fur
coats were wrapped closely round their shoulders, for a keen
north-westerly wind had found its way through the chinks and cracks of
tumble-down doors and ill-fitting window frames.
Though a soft powdery veil--smooth as velvet to the touch and made up of
flour and fine dust--lay over everything, and the dry, sweet smell of
corn still hung in the close atmosphere, there was little else in this
room now that suggested the peaceful use for which it had been
originally intended.
The big weighing machines had been pushed into corners, and all round
the sloping walls swords, cullivers and muskets were piled in orderly
array, also a row of iron boxes standing a foot or so apart from one
another and away from any other objects in the room.
The silence which reigned over the surrounding landscape did not find
its kingdom inside this building, for a perpetual hum, a persistent
buzzing noise as of bees in their hives, filtrated through the floor and
the low ceiling of this room. Men moved and talked and laughed inside
the molens, but the movement and the laughter were subdued as if muffled
in that same mantle of mist which covered the outside world.
The two men in the weighing-room were sitting at a table on which were
scattered papers, inkhorns and pens, a sword, a couple of pistols and
two or three pairs of skates. One of them was leaning forward and
talking eagerly:
"I think you can rest satisfied, my good Stoutenburg," he said, "our
preparations leave nothing to be desired. I have just seen Jan, and
together we have despatched the man Lucas van Sparendam to Delft. He is
the finest spy in the country, and can ferret out a plan or sift a
rumour quicker than any man I know. He will remain at Delft and keep the
Prinzenhof under observation: and will only leave the city if anything
untoward should happen, and then he will come straight here and report
to us. He is a splendid runner, and can easily cover the distance
between Delft and this molens in an hour. That is satisfactory is it
not?"
"Quite," replied Stoutenburg curtly.
"Our arrangements here on the other hand are equally perfect,"
resumed Beresteyn eagerly, "we have kept the whole thing in our own
hands ... Heemskerk and I will be at our posts ready to fire the
gunpowder at the exact moment when the advance guard of the Prince's
escort will have gone over the bridge ... you, dagger in hand, will be
prepared to make a dash for the carriage itself ... our men will attack
the scattered and confused guard at a word from van Does.... What could
be more simple, more perfect than that? Yourself, Heemskerk, van Does
and I ... all of one mind ... all equally true, silent and
determined.... You seem so restless and anxious.... Frankly I do not
understand you."
"It is not of our preparations or of our arrangements that I am
thinking, Nicolaes," said Stoutenburg sombrely, "these have been thought
out well enough. Nothing but superhuman intervention or treachery can
save the Stadtholder--of that am I convinced. Neither God nor the devil
care to interfere in men's affairs--we need not therefore fear
superhuman intervention. But 'tis the thought of treachery that haunts
me."
"Bah!" quoth Beresteyn with a shrug of the shoulders, "you have made a
nightmare of that thought. Treachery? there is no fear of treachery.
Yourself, van Does, Heemskerk and I are the only ones who know anything
at this moment of our plans for to-morrow. Do you suspect van Does of
treachery, or Heemskerk, or me?"
"I was not thinking of Heemskerk or of van Does," rejoined Stoutenburg,
"and even our men will know nothing of the attack until the last moment.
Danger, friend, doth not lie in or around the molens; it lurks at
Rotterdam and hath name Gilda."
"Gilda! What can you fear from Gilda now?"
"Everything. Have you never thought on it, friend? Jan, remember, lost
track of that knave soon after he left Haarlem. At first he struck
across the waterways in a southerly direction and for awhile Jan and the
others were able to keep him in sight. But soon darkness settled in and
along many intricate backwaters our rogue was able to give them the
slip."
"I know that," rejoined Beresteyn somewhat impatiently. "I was here in
the early morning when Jan reported to you. He also told you that he and
his men pushed on as far as Leyden that night and regained the road to
Rotterdam the following day. At Zegwaard and again at Zevenhuizen they
ascertained that a party consisting of two women in a sledge and an
escort of three cavaliers had halted for refreshments at those places
and then continued their journey southwards. Since then Jan has found
out definitely that Gilda and her escort arrived early last night at the
house of Ben Isaje of Rotterdam, and he came straight on here to report
to you. Frankly I see nothing in all this to cause you so much
anxiety."
"You think then that everything is for the best?" asked Stoutenburg
grimly, "you did not begin to wonder how it was that--as Jan ascertained
at Zegwaard and at Zevenhuizen--Gilda continued her journey without any
protest. According to the people whom Jan questioned she looked sad
certainly, but she was always willing to restart on her way. What do you
make of that, my friend?"
Once more Beresteyn shrugged his shoulders.
"Gilda is proud," he said. "She hath resigned herself to her fate."
Stoutenburg laughed aloud.
"How little you--her own brother--know her," he retorted. "Gilda
resigned? Gilda content to let events shape themselves--such events as
those which she heard us planning in the Groote Kerk on New Year's Eve?
Why, my friend, Gilda will never be resigned, she will never be content
until she hath moved earth and heaven to save the Stadtholder from my
avenging hand!"
"But what can she do now? Ben Isaje is honest in business matters. It
would not pay him to play his customers false. And I have promised him
two thousand guilders if he keeps her safely as a prisoner of war, not
even to be let out on parole. Ben Isaje would not betray me. He is too
shrewd for that."
"That may be true of Ben Isaje himself; but what of his wife? his sons
or daughters if he have any? his serving wenches, his apprentices and
his men? How do you know that they are not amenable to promises of heavy
bribes?"
"But even then...."
"Do you not think that at Rotterdam every one by now knows the Prince's
movements? He passed within half a league of the town yesterday; there
is not a serving wench in that city at this moment who does not know
that Maurice of Nassau slept at Delft last night and will start
northwards to-morrow."
"And what of that?" queried Beresteyn, trying to keep up a semblance of
that carelessness which he was far from feeling now.
"Do you believe then that Gilda will stay quietly in the house of
Ben Isaje, knowing that the Prince is within four leagues of her
door?... knowing that he will start northwards to-morrow ... knowing
that my headquarters are here--close to Ryswyk ... knowing in fact all
that she knows?"
"I had not thought on all that," murmured Beresteyn under his breath.
"And there is another danger too, friend, greater perhaps than any
other," continued Stoutenburg vehemently.
"Good G--d, Stoutenburg, what do you mean?"
"That cursed foreign adventurer----"
"What about him?"
"Have you then never thought of him as being amenable to a bribe from
Gilda."
"In Heaven's name, man, do not think of such awful eventualities!"
"But we must think of them, my good Beresteyn. Events are shaping
themselves differently to what we expected. We must make preparations
for our safety accordingly, and above all realise the fact that Gilda
will move heaven and earth to thwart us in our plans."
"But she can do nothing," persisted Beresteyn sullenly, "without
betraying me. In Haarlem it was different. She might have spoken to my
father of what she knew, but she would not do so to a stranger, knowing
that with one word she can send me first and all of you afterwards to
the scaffold."
Stoutenburg with an exclamation of angry impatience brought his clenched
fist crashing down upon the table.
"Are you a child, Beresteyn," he cried hotly, "or are you wilfully blind
to your danger and to mine? I tell you that Gilda will never allow me to
kill the Prince of Orange without raising a finger to save him."
"But what can I do?"
"Send for Gilda at once, to-night," urged Stoutenburg, "convey her under
escort hither ... in all deference ... in all honour ... she would be
here under her brother's care."
"A woman in this place at such a moment," cried Beresteyn; "you are mad,
Stoutenburg."
"I shall go mad if she is not here," rejoined the other more calmly,
"the fear has entered into my soul, Nicolaes, that Gilda will yet betray
us at the eleventh hour. That fear is an obsession ... call it
premonition if you will, but it unmans me, friend."
Beresteyn was silent now. He drew his cloak closer round his shoulders,
for suddenly he felt a chill which seemed to have crept into his bones.
"But it is unpractical, man," he persisted with a kind of sullen
despair. "Gilda and another woman here ... to-morrow ... when not half a
league away...."
"Justice will be meted out to a tyrant and an assassin," broke in
Stoutenburg quietly. "Gilda is not a woman as other women are, though in
her soul now she may be shrinking at the thought of this summary
justice, she will be strong and brave when the hour comes. In any case,"
he added roughly, "we can keep her closely guarded, and in the miller's
hut, with the miller and his wife to look after her, she will be as safe
and as comfortable as circumstances will allow. We should have her then
under our own eyes and know that she cannot betray us."
As usual Beresteyn was already yielding to the stronger will, the more
powerful personality of his friend. His association with Stoutenburg had
gradually blunted his finer feelings; like a fly that is entangled in
the web of a spider, he tried to fight against the network of intrigue
and of cowardice which hemmed him in more and more closely with every
step that he took along the path of crime. He was filled with remorse at
thought of the wrong which he had done to Gilda, but he was no longer
his own master. He was being carried away by the tide of intrigue and by
the fear of discovery, away from his better self.
"You should have thought on all that sooner, Stoutenburg," he said in
final, feeble protest, "we need never have sent Gilda to Rotterdam in
the company of a foreign adventurer of whom we knew nothing."
"At the time it seemed simple enough," quoth Stoutenburg impatiently,
"you suggested the house of Ben Isaje the banker and it seemed an
excellent plan. I did not think of distance then, and it is only since
we arrived at Ryswyk that I realized how near all these places are to
one another, and how easy it would be for Gilda to betray us even now."
Beresteyn was silent after that. It was easy to see that his friend's
restless anxiety was eating into his own soul. Stoutenburg watched him
with those hollow glowing eyes of his that seemed to send a magnetic
current of strong will-power into the weaker vessel.
"Well! perhaps you are right," said Beresteyn at last, "perhaps you are
right. After all," he added half to himself, "perhaps I shall feel
easier in my conscience when I have Gilda near me and feel that I can at
least watch over her."
Stoutenburg, having gained his point, jumped to his feet and drew a deep
breath of satisfaction.
"That's bravely said," he exclaimed. "Will you go yourself at once to
Rotterdam? with two or three of our most trusted men you could bring
Gilda here with absolute safety; you only need to make a slight détour
when you near Delft so as to avoid the city. You could be here by six
o'clock this evening at the latest, and Jan in the meanwhile with a
contingent of our stalwarts shall try and find that abominable plepshurk
again and bring him here too without delay."
"No, no," said Beresteyn quickly, "I'll not go myself. I could not bear
to meet Gilda just yet. I will not have her think that I had a hand in
her abduction and my presence might arouse her suspicions."
Stoutenburg laughed unconcernedly.
"You would rather that she thought I had instigated the deed. Well!" he
added with a careless shrug, "my shoulders are broad enough to bear the
brunt of her wrath if she does. An you will not go yourself we will give
full instructions to Jan. He shall bring Gilda and her woman hither with
due respect and despatch, and lay the knave by the heels at the same
time. Ten or a dozen of our men or even more can easily be spared
to-day, there is really nothing for them to do, and they are best out of
mischief by being kept busy. Now while I go to give Jan his instructions
do you write a letter to Ben Isaje, telling him that it is your wish
that Gilda should accompany the bearer of your sign-manual."
"But...."
"Tush, man!" exclaimed Stoutenburg impatiently, while a tone of contempt
rang through his harsh voice, "you can so word the letter that even if
it were found it need not compromise you in any way. You might just have
discovered that your sister was in the hands of brigands, and be sending
an escort to rescue her; Gilda will be grateful to you then and ready to
believe in you. Write what you like, but for God's sake write quickly.
Every moment's delay drives me well-nigh distraught."
With jerky, feverish movements he pushed paper and inkhorn nearer to
Beresteyn, who hesitated no longer and at once began to write.
Stoutenburg went to the door and loudly called for Jan.
Ten minutes later the letter was written, folded and delivered into
Jan's keeping, who was standing at attention and recapitulating the
orders which had been given him.
"I take a dozen men with me," he said slowly, "and we follow the course
of the Schie as far as Rotterdam. Fortunately it is passable practically
the whole of the way."
Stoutenburg nodded in approval.
"I present this letter to Mynheer Ben Isaje, the banker," continued Jan,
"and ask him at once to apprise the jongejuffrouw that she deign to
accompany us."
"Yes. That is right," quoth Stoutenburg, "but remember that I want you
above all things to find that foreigner again. You said that he was
sleeping last night in Mynheer Ben Isaje's house."
"So I understood, my lord."
"Well! you must move heaven and earth to find him, Jan. I want him
here--a prisoner--remember! Do not let him slip through your fingers
this time. It might mean life or death to us all. By fair means or foul
you must lay him by the heels."
"It should not be difficult, my lord," assented Jan quietly. "I will
pick my men, and I have no doubt that we shall come across the foreigner
somewhere in the neighbourhood. He cannot have gone far, and even if he
left the city we will easily come on his track."
"That's brave, Jan. Then come straight back here; two or three of your
men can in the meanwhile escort the jongejuffrouw, who will travel by
sledge. You must avoid Delft of course, and make a détour there."
"I had best get horses at Rotterdam, my lord; the sledge can follow the
left bank of the Schie all the way, which will be the best means of
avoiding Delft."
"And remember," concluded Stoutenburg in his most peremptory manner,
"that you must all be back here before ten o'clock to-night. The
jongejuffrouw first and you with the foreigner later. It is not much
more than eight o'clock now; you have the whole day before you. Let the
sledge pull up outside the miller's hut, everything will be ready there
by then for the jongejuffrouw's reception; and let your watchwords be
'Silence, discretion, speed!'--you understand?"
"I understand, my lord," replied Jan simply as he gave a military
salute, then quietly turned on his heel and went out of the room.
The two friends were once more alone, straining their ears to catch
every sound which came to them now from below. Muffled and enveloped in
the mist, the voice of Jan giving brief words of command could be
distinctly heard, also the metallic click of skates and the tramping of
heavily-booted feet upon the ground. But ten minutes later all these
sounds had died away. Jan and his men had gone to fetch Gilda--the poor
little pawn moved hither and thither by the ruthless and ambitious hands
of men.
Beresteyn had buried his head in his hands, in a sudden fit of
overpowering remorse. Stoutenburg looked on him silently for awhile, his
haggard face appeared drawn and sunken in the pale grey light which
found its way through the tiny window up above. Passion greater than
that which broke down the spirit of his friend, was tearing at his
heart-strings; ambition fought with love, and remorse with
determination. But through it all the image of Gilda flitted before his
burning eyes across this dimly-lighted room, reproachful and sweet and
tantalizingly beautiful. The desire to have her near him in the greatest
hour of his life on the morrow, had been the true mainspring which had
prompted him to urge Beresteyn to send for her. It seemed to him that
Gilda's presence would bring him luck in his dark undertaking so heavily
fraught with crime, and with a careless shrug of the shoulders he was
ready to dismiss all thoughts of the wrong which he had done her, in
favour of his hopes, his desire, his certainty that a glorious future in
his arms would compensate her for all that he had caused her to endure.