THE CAPTIVE LION
Beresteyn was sitting at the table in the weighing-room of the molens:
his elbows rested on the table, and his right hand supported his head;
in the feeble light of the lanthorn placed quite close to him, his face
looked sullen and dark, and his eyes, overshadowed by his frowning
brows, were fixed with restless eagerness upon the narrow door.
Stoutenburg, with hands crossed over his chest, with head bare and
collar impatiently torn away from round his neck, was pacing up and down
the long, low room like a caged beast of prey.
"Enter!" he shouted impatiently in response to a loud knock on the door.
Then as Jan entered, and having saluted, remained standing by the door,
he paused in his feverish walk, and asked in a curiously hoarse voice,
choked with anxiety:
"Is everything all right, Jan?"
"Everything, my lord."
"The jongejuffrouw?..."
"In the hut, my lord. There is a good fire there and the woman is
preparing some hot supper for the lady."
"How does she seem?"
"She stepped very quietly out of the sledge, my lord, the moment I told
her that we had arrived. She asked no questions, and walked straight
into the hut. Meseemed that the jongejuffrouw knew exactly where she
was."
"The woman will look after her comforts well?"
"Oh, yes, my lord, though she is only a rough peasant, she will try and
do her best, and the jongejuffrouw has her own waiting woman with her as
well."
"And the horses?"
"In the shed behind the hut."
"Look after them well, Jan: we may want to use them again to-morrow."
"They shall be well looked after, my lord."
"And you have placed the sentry outside the hut?"
"Two men in the front and two in the rear, as you have commanded, my
lord."
Stoutenburg drew a deep breath of satisfaction: but anxiety seemed to
have exhausted him, for now that his questions had been clearly
answered, he sank into a chair.
"All well, Nicolaes," he said more calmly as he placed a re-assuring
hand upon his friend's shoulder.
But Nicolaes groaned aloud.
"Would to God," he said, "that all were well!"
Smothering an impatient retort Stoutenburg once more turned to Jan.
"And what news of the foreigner?" he queried eagerly.
"We have got him, my lord," replied Jan.
"By G--d!" exclaimed Stoutenburg, "how did you do it?"
His excitement was at fever pitch now. He was leaning forward, and his
attitude was one of burning expectancy. His hollow eyes were fixed upon
Jan's lips as if they would extract from them the glad news which they
held. Whatever weakness there was in Stoutenburg's nature, one thing in
him was strong--and that was hatred. He could hate with an intensity of
passion worthy of a fine cause. He hated the Stadtholder first, and
secondly the nameless adventurer who had humiliated him and forced him
to lick the dust: wounded in his vanity and in his arrogance he was
consumed with an inordinate desire for revenge. The hope that this
revenge was now at last in sight--that the man whom he hated so
desperately was now in his power--almost caused the light of mania to
dance in his glowing eyes.
"How did you do it, Jan?" he reiterated hoarsely.
"It was not far from the molens," said Jan simply, "until then he gave
us the slip, though we spied him just outside Delft on our way to
Rotterdam this morning. My impression is that he went back to Rotterdam
then, and that he followed the jongejuffrouw's sledge practically all
the way. Close to the molens he was forced to draw a little nearer as it
was getting very dark and probably he did not know his way about. I am
convinced that he wished to ascertain exactly whither we were taking the
jongejuffrouw. At any rate, I and some of our fellows who had lagged in
the rear caught sight of him then...."
"And you seized him?" cried Stoutenburg with exultant joy.
"He was alone, my lord," replied Jan with a placid smile, "and there
were seven of us at the time. Two or three of the men, though, are even
now nursing unpleasant wounds. I myself fared rather badly with a
bruised head and half-broken collar-bone.... The man is a demon for
fighting, but there were seven of us."
"Well done, Jan!" cried Beresteyn now, for Stoutenburg had become
speechless with the delight of this glorious news; "and what did you do
with the rogue?"
"We tied him securely with ropes and dragged him along with us. Oh! we
made certain of him, my lord, you may be sure of that. And now I and
another man have taken him down into the basement below and we have
fastened him to one of the beams, where I imagine the north-west wind
will soon cool his temper."
"Aye, that it will!" quoth Stoutenburg lustily. "Take the lanthorn, Jan,
and let us to him at once. Beresteyn, friend, will you come too? Your
hand like mine must be itching to get at the villain's face."
The two men took good care to wrap their cloaks well round their
shoulders and to pull their fur caps closely round their ears. Thus
muffled up against the bitterness of the night, they went out of the
molens, followed by Jan, who carried the lanthorn.
Outside the door, steep, ladder-like steps led to the ground. The place
referred to by Jan as "the basement" was in reality the skeleton
foundations on which the molens rested. These were made up of huge
beams--green and slimy with age, and driven deep down into the muddy
flat below. Ten feet up above, the floor of the molens sat towering
aloft. Darkness like pitch reigned on this spot, but as Jan swung his
lanthorn along, the solid beams detached themselves one by one out of
the gloom, their ice-covered surface reflected the yellow artificial
light, and huge icicles of weird and fantastic shapes like giant arms
and fingers stretched out hung down from the transverse bars and from
the wooden framework of the molens above.
To one of the upright beams a man was securely fastened with ropes wound
round about his body. His powerful muscles were straining against the
cords which tied his arms behind his back. A compassionate hand had put
his broad-brimmed hat upon his head, to protect his ears and nose
against the frost, but his mighty chest was bare, for doublet and shirt
had been torn in the reckless fight which preceded final capture.
Jan held up the lanthorn and pointed out to my lord the prisoner whom he
was so proud to have captured. The light fell upon the pinioned figure,
splendid in its air of rebellious helplessness. Here was a man,
momentarily conquered it is true, but obviously not vanquished, and
though the ropes now cut into his body, though the biting wind lashed
his bare chest, and dark stains showed upon his shirt, the spirit within
was as free and untrammelled as ever--the spirit of independence and of
adventure which is willing to accept the knockdown blows of fate as
readily and cheerfully as her favours.
Despite the torn shirt and the ragged doublet there was yet an air of
swagger about the whole person of the man, swagger that became almost
insolent as the Lord of Stoutenburg approached. He threw back his head
and looked his sworn enemy straight in the face, his eyes were laughing
still, and a smile of cool irony played round his lips.
"Well done, Jan!" quoth Stoutenburg with a deep sigh of satisfaction.
He was standing with arms akimbo and legs wide apart, enjoying to the
full the intense delight of gazing for awhile in silence on his
discomfited enemy.
"Ah! but it is good," he said at last, "to look upon a helpless rogue."
"'Tis a sight then," retorted the prisoner lightly, "which your
Magnificence hath often provided for your friends and your adherents."
"Bah!" rejoined Stoutenburg, who was determined to curb his temper if he
could, "your insolence now, my man, hath not the power to anger me. It
strikes me as ludicrous--even pathetic in its senselessness. An I were
in your unpleasant position, I would try by submission to earn a slight
measure of leniency from my betters."
"No doubt you would, my lord," quoth Diogenes dryly, "but you see I have
up to now not yet come across my betters. When I do, I may take your
advice."
"Verdommte Keerl! What say you, Beresteyn," added Stoutenburg turning to
his friend, "shall we leave him here to-night to cool his impudence, we
can always hang him to-morrow."
Beresteyn made no immediate reply, his face was pale and haggard, and
his glance--shifty and furtive--seemed to avoid that of the prisoner.
"You must see that the fellow is well guarded, Jan," resumed Stoutenburg
curtly, "give him some food, but on no account allow him the slightest
freedom."
"My letters to Ben Isaje," murmured Beresteyn, as Stoutenburg already
turned to go. "Hath he perchance got them by him still?"
"The letters! yes! I have forgotten!" said the other. "Search him, Jan!"
he commanded.
Jan put down the lanthorn and then proceeded to lay rough hands upon the
captive philosopher; he had a heavy score to pay off against him--an
aching collar-bone and a bruised head, and the weight of a powerful fist
to avenge. He was not like to be gentle in his task. He tore at the
prisoner's doublet and in his search for a hidden pocket he disclosed an
ugly wound which had lacerated the shoulder.
"Some of us took off our skates," he remarked casually, "and brought him
down with them. The blades were full sharp, and we swung them by their
straps; they made excellent weapons thus; the fellow should have more
than one wound about him."
"Three, my good Jan, to be quite accurate," said Diogenes calmly, "but
all endurable. I had ten about me outside Prague once, but the fellows
there were fighting better than you, and in a worthier cause."
Jan's rough hands continued their exhaustive search; a quickly smothered
groan from the prisoner caused Stoutenburg to laugh.
"That sound," he said, "was music to mine ear."
Jan now drew a small leather wallet and a parchment roll both from the
wide flap of the prisoner's boot. Stoutenburg pounced upon the wallet,
and Beresteyn with eager anxiety tore the parchment out of Jan's hand.
"It is the formal order to Ben Isaje," he said, "to pay over the money
to this knave. Is there anything else, Jan?" he continued excitedly, "a
thinner paper?--shaped like a letter?"
"Nothing else, mynheer," replied Jan.
"Did you then deliver my letter to Ben Isaje, fellow?" queried Beresteyn
of the prisoner.
"My friend Jan should be able to tell you that," he replied, "hath he
not been searching the very folds of my skin."
In the meanwhile Stoutenburg had been examining the contents of the
wallet.
"Jewellery belonging to the jongejuffrouw," he said dryly, "which this
rogue hath stolen from her. Will you take charge of them, Nicolaes? And
here," he added, counting out a few pieces of gold and silver, "is some
of your own money."
He made as if he would return this to Beresteyn, then a new idea seemed
to strike him, for he put all the money back into the wallet and said to
Jan:
"Put this wallet back where you found it, Jan, and, Nicolaes," he added
turning back to his friend, "will you allow me to look at that bond?"
While Jan obeyed and replaced the wallet in the flap of the prisoner's
boot, Beresteyn handed the parchment to Stoutenburg. The latter then
ordered Jan to hold up the lanthorn so that by its light he might read
the writing.
This he did, twice over, with utmost attention; after which he tore off
very carefully a narrow strip from the top of the document.
"Now," he said quietly, "this paper, wherever found, cannot compromise
you in any way, Nicolaes. The name of Ben Isaje who alone could trace
the cypher signature back to you, we will scatter to the winds."
And he tore the narrow strip which he had severed from the document
into infinitesimal fragments, which he then allowed the wind to snatch
out of his hand and to whirl about and away into space. But the document
itself he folded up with ostentatious care.
"What do you want with that?" asked Beresteyn anxiously.
"I don't know yet, but it might be very useful," replied the other. "So
many things may occur within the next few days that such an ambiguously
worded document might prove of the utmost value."
"But ... the signature ..." urged Beresteyn, "my father...."
"The signature, you told me, friend, is one that you use in the ordinary
way of business whilst the wording of the document in itself cannot
compromise you in any way; it is merely a promise to pay for services
rendered. Leave this document in my keeping; believe me, it is quite
safe with me and might yet be of incalculable value to us. One never
knows."
"No! one never does know," broke in the prisoner airily, "for of a truth
when there's murder to be done, pillage or outrage, the Lord of
Stoutenburg never knows what other infamy may come to his hand."
"Insolent knave!" exclaimed Stoutenburg hoarsely, as with a cry of
unbridled fury he suddenly raised his arm and with the parchment roll
which he held, he struck the prisoner savagely in the face.
"Take care, Stoutenburg," ejaculated Beresteyn almost involuntarily.
"Take care of what," retorted the other with a harsh laugh, "the fellow
is helpless, thank God! and I would gladly break my riding whip across
his impudent face."
He was livid and shaking with fury. Beresteyn--honestly fearing that in
his blind rage he would compromise his dignity before his
subordinates--dragged him by the arm away from the presence of this man
whom he appeared to hate with such passionate intensity.
Stoutenburg, obdurate at first, almost drunk with his own fury, tried to
free himself from his friend's grasp. He wanted to lash the man he hated
once more in the face, to gloat for awhile longer on the sight of his
enemy now completely in his power. But all around in the gloom he
perceived figures that moved; the soldiers and mercenaries placed at his
disposal by his friends were here in numbers: some of them had been put
on guard over the prisoner by Jan, and others had joined them, attracted
by loud voices.
Stoutenburg had just enough presence of mind left in him to realize that
the brutal striking of a defenceless prisoner would probably horrify
these men, who were fighters and not bullies, and might even cause them
to turn from their allegiance to him.
So with desperate effort he pulled himself together and contrived to
give with outward calm some final orders to Jan.
"See that the ropes are securely fastened, Jan," he said, "leave half a
dozen men on guard, then follow me."
But to Beresteyn, who had at last succeeded in dragging him away from
this spot, he said loudly:
"You do not know, Nicolaes, what a joy it is to me to be even with that
fellow at last."
A prolonged laugh, that had a note of triumph in it, gave answer to this
taunt, whilst a clear voice shouted lustily:
"Nay! we never can be quite even, my lord; since you were not trussed
like a capon when I forced you to lick the dust."