The First Sir Percy, Baroness Orczy [most important books to read TXT] 📗

believe it! Let us wait at least until we’ve heard what news my lord hath brought!” No one spoke in response, and even the Stadtholder shrugged his shoulders, as if the matter of a man’s honour or dishonour had no interest for him.

“Your Highness,” Nicolaes went on with passionate earnestness, “let me beg of you on my knees to think of your noble father, of the trap into which he fell, and of his assassin, Gérard⁠—a stranger, too⁠—”

“But this man saved my life once!” the Stadtholder said, with an outburst of generous feeling in favour of the man to whom, in truth, he owed so much.

“He hated Stoutenburg then, your Highness,” Nicolaes retorted, and boldly looked his father in the face⁠—his father who knew his own share in that hideous conspiracy three months ago. “He loved my sister Gilda. It suited his purpose then to use his sword in your Highness’s service. But remember, he is only a soldier of fortune after all. Have we not all of us heard him say a hundred times that he had lived hitherto by selling his sword to the highest bidder?”

This time his tirade was greeted by a distinct murmur of approval. Only the burgomaster raised his voice admonishingly once more.

“Take care, Nicolaes!” he exclaimed. “Take care!”

“Take care of what?” the young man retorted with all his wonted arrogance, and challenged his father with a look.

“Would you give your only son away,” that look appeared to say, “in order to justify a stranger?”

Then, as indeed Mynheer Beresteyn remained silent, not exactly giving up the contention, but forced into passive acquiescence by the weight of public opinion and that inalienable feeling of family and kindred which makes most men or women defend their own against any stranger, Nicolaes continued, with magnificent assumption of patriotic fervor:

“Have we the right hazard so precious a thing as his Highness’s life for the sake of sparing my sister’s feelings?”

In this sentiment everyone was ready to concur. They did not actually condemn the stranger; they were not prepared to call him a traitor and a potential assassin, or to believe one half of Nicolaes Beresteyn’s insinuations. They merely put him aside, out of their minds, as not entering into their present schemes. And even the burgomaster could not gainsay the fact that his son was right.

The most urgent thing at the present juncture was to get the Stadtholder safely back to his camp at Utrecht. Every minute spent in this garrisonless city was fraught with danger for the most precious life in the United Provinces.

“Where is his Highness’s horse?” he asked.

“Just outside,” Nicolaes replied glibly; “in charge of a man I know. Mine is ready too. Indeed, we should get to horse at once.”

The Stadtholder did not demur.

“Have the horses brought to,” he said quickly. “I’ll be with you in a trice.”

II

Nicolaes hurried out of the room, his Highness remaining behind for a moment or two, in order to give his final instructions, a last admonition or two to the burghers.

“Do not resist,” he said earnestly. “You have not the means to do aught but to resign yourselves to the inevitable. As soon as I can, I will come to your relief. In the meanwhile, conciliate De Berg by every means in your power. He is not a harsh man, and the Archduchess has learnt a salutary lesson from the discomfiture of Alva. She knows by now that we are a stiff-necked race, whom it is easier to cajole than to coerce. If only you will be patient! Can you reckon on your citizens not to do anything rash or foolish that might bring reprisals upon your heads?”

“Yes,” the burgomaster replied. “I think we can rely on them for that. When your Highness has gone we’ll assemble on the market place, and I will speak to them. We’ll do our best to stay the present panic and bring some semblance of order into the town.”

Their hearts were heavy. ’Twas no use trying to minimize the deadly peril which confronted them. There was a century of oppression, of ravage, and pillage, and bloodshed to the credit of the Spanish armies. It was difficult to imagine that the spirit of an entire nation should have changed suddenly into something more tolerant and less cruel.

However, for the moment, there was nothing more to be said, and alas! it was not as if the whole terrible situation was a novel one. They had all been through it before, at Leyden and Bergen-op-Zoom, at Haarlem and Delft, when they were weeping their land free from the foreign tyrant; and it was useless at this hour to add to the Stadtholder’s difficulties by futile lamentations. All the more as Nicolaes had now returned with the welcome news that the horses were there, and everything ready for his Highness’s departure. He appeared more excited than before, anxious to get away as quickly as may be.

“There is a rumour in the town,” he said, “that Spanish vedettes have been spied less than a league away.”

“And have you heard any rumour as to the arrival of our Diogenes?” the Stadtholder asked casually.

Nicolaes hesitated a moment ere he replied: “I have heard nothing definite.”

III

A minute later the Stadtholder was in the hall. The doors were open and the horses down below in the charge of an equerry.

Nicolaes, half way down the outside stone steps, looked the picture of fretful impatience. With a dark frown upon his brow, he was scanning the crowd, and now and again a curse broke through his set lips when he saw the Stadtholder still delayed by futile leave-takings.

“In the name of heaven, let us to horse!” he exclaimed almost savagely.

Just at that moment his Highness was taking a kindly farewell of Gilda.

“I wish, mejuffrouw,” he was saying, “that you had thought of taking shelter in our camp.”

Gilda forced herself to listen to him, her lips tried to frame the respectful words which convention demanded.