LEATHERFACE (continued 5)

It was to be supposed that the High-Bailiff and Sheriffs of the city had been warned of the arrival of His Highness, for they met him at the Waalpoort, attired despite the threatening weather in their magnificent civic robes. The Duke who rode a black charger paused just inside the gates and listened in silence to the loyal address which these dignitaries presented to him. The sizzling torches threw a weird, unsteady light upon the scene, distorting every form into a grotesque shape, half-concealing, half-illumining the stern face of the Lieutenant-Governor draped in his velvet robe.

When the loyal address had been duly presented, and further speeches of welcome delivered by the senior sheriff and by the Schout, the Lieutenant-Governor demanded that the keys of the city be within the hour brought to him on the Kouter where he would be inspecting the troops. This demand greatly astonished the sheriffs and aldermen, but they did not dare to raise any objections and promised that they would most dutifully comply with His Highness' request.

"With my commands," the Duke corrected them curtly.

Nor would he dismiss the grave seigneurs, but kept them kneeling there before him in the mud, until they had humbly assured him that they would execute his commands.

Whereupon the Duke proceeded to the Kouter.

The troops had been aligned for his inspection, and a very gay and gaudy throng they looked in the flickering torch-light. All the houses round the Place were lighted up from within by now, and crowds thronged in from all the side streets. It was many years since Ghent had seen so gay a sight. There were three hundred torch-bearers on the parade ground by now, each with huge resin torches, and so brightly illumined was the Place that you could have deciphered a letter out in the open just as easily as you would in daylight. Lances and halberds held erect formed a shimmering background to the picture like a forest of straight tall stems, and their metal heads glimmered like little tongues of fire, throwing out strange and unexpected flashes of light as the men moved who held them.

In the centre of the picture the Duke of Alva on horseback. The endurance of the man was absolutely wonderful! He had ridden all the way from Brussels that day--starting at daybreak--a matter of nine leagues and more. He had tired two horses out, but not himself--and he was a man of sixty. The chronicler goes on to tell us that the Duke's face looked grim and determined, but not fatigued, and in his prominent eyes under their drooping lids was a glitter like steel--hard and cruel and triumphant too.

He held the reins of his charger with one hand, the other was on his hip. He wore a felt hat which he had pulled down upon his brow, and a huge cape of dark woollen stuff lined with purple silk which covered his shoulders and fell right round him over his saddle-bow. A group of cavaliers surrounded him in fantastic multi-coloured doublets and hose, all slashed and pinked, and enormous bonnets covered with gigantic plumes, and behind these stood the standard bearers. The autumn wind had caught the folds of the huge ensigns which were grouped in half dozens close together, so that the great folds interlocked from time to time and spread themselves out like a monster moving, waving mass of crimson and yellow with the devices of the companies embroidered thereon in black and silver.

It was indeed a fine and picturesque spectacle, arranged with a view to making it impressive and to strike awe into the hearts of the citizens. The civic dignitaries had returned by now, and the High-Bailiff had brought the keys of the town upon a velvet cushion. He and the ten sheriffs and the Schout, the fifteen Vroedschappen who were the city councillors and the Schepens who were the aldermen all approached the Lieutenant-Governor with back nearly bent double in their loyalty and humility.

But when they were within speaking distance of the Duke they all had to kneel--just as before--in the mud and the dirt. The Master of the Camp was there to direct them and they had not the pluck to resist. Then the High-Bailiff was made to advance alone with the cushion in both his hands and upon the cushion the keys of the city, and he was made to kneel close to the Duke's stirrup and humbly present him with the keys.

The Lieutenant-Governor said curtly: "'Tis well!" and ordered the chief gentleman of his body-guard to take possession of the keys. Then he said in a loud voice so that every one could hear:

"The gates of this city shall be closed this night, and will so remain until such time as the order which I am about to give to the inhabitants is complied with."

There was a prolonged roll of drums; and the gentleman of the bodyguard rode away from the Place with a company of halberdiers, and he carried the keys of the city with him. He was going to close the gates of the city as the Lieutenant-Governor directed.

When the roll of the drums had died away there was a moment's silence on the huge overcrowded Kouter through which you might have heard a thousand hearts beating in sudden deathly anxiety. Here then was no ordinary pageant, no mere display of soldiery and of arms such as the Spaniards were overfond of. Something momentous was about to happen which in these days of perpetual strife and continuous oppression could but mean sorrow and humiliation to this proud city and to her freedom-loving children. The High-Bailiff and the Schout and the town councillors were all kept kneeling, though they were elderly men most of them, and the ground was very damp; and the people crowded in all round the soldiers, as near as they could, in order to hear what His Highness wished to say.

"Citizens of Ghent," he began in his harsh and strident voice which could be heard from end to end of the Kouter. "It has come to my knowledge that William of Nassau Prince of Orange is dwelling in this city, and that, contrary to the ordinance of our Sovereign Lord the King, he hath attempted to levy troops within these gates for an unlawful purpose. Those who have thus in defiance of all law and order enrolled themselves under a standard of rebellion and have taken up arms against our Sovereign Lord and King will be dealt with summarily. But in the meanwhile understand that any one who henceforth harbours under his roof the said William of Nassau Prince of Orange, or assists or aids him to leave this city, is guilty of rebellion, and will be punished with death. Understand also that it is my desire that the person of the Prince of Orange be delivered unto me within forty-eight hours at the Kasteel where I shall be lodging, and that I have ordered that the gates of the city be closed until the expiration of that time. And finally understand that if within forty-eight hours the person of William of Nassau Prince of Orange is not delivered unto me, then will the whole city of Ghent be guilty of treason and rebellion, and every man, woman and child in it will be punishable with death; and the town itself will be dealt with as summarily as were Mons and Valenciennes and Mechlin. God bless our gracious and merciful King!"

He raised his hat and lifted his face up to heaven, and his lips were seen to move as if in prayer. The Master of the Camp gave the signal for a huge and prolonged roll of drums which echoed from end to end of the Kouter and into every corner of the city, and all the soldiers set up a lusty shout of "God bless our Sovereign Lord and King!" But the people were silent. No one uttered a word, no one joined in the shouting. Men looked at one another with scared, wide-open eyes; the boldest had become as pale as death. Some of the women swooned with terror, others broke into terrified sobs; even the children realised that something very terrible had occurred; they clung weeping to their mothers' skirts.

The Lieutenant-Governor, having spoken, wheeled round his horse and rode slowly across the Kouter closely surrounded by his bodyguard and his torch-bearers. Just then, so Messire de Vaernewyck assures us, the wind, which had been very boisterous all the evening, suddenly dropped, and the air became very still and strangely oppressive. A few huge drops of rain fell making a loud patter upon the steel bonnets and cuirasses of the soldiers, and then a streak of vivid lightning rent the black clouds right out over the Leye and a terrific clap of thunder shook the very houses of the city upon their foundation. The Duke of Alva's horse reared and nearly threw him; there was momentary confusion, too, among the bodyguard. Those who were devout Catholics promptly crossed themselves; those who were superstitious at once saw in that curious and unexpected phenomenon a warning from God Himself.

Then the rain came down in torrents and speedily dispersed the crowd. The civic magistrates and councillors were at last able to struggle to their feet--most of them felt cramped from the lengthy kneeling. They assembled in groups and whispered with one another; the townsfolk looked on them with eyes full of anxiety; it was to them that the poorer people must look for help in this awful calamity which threatened them all.

III

After the Lieutenant-Governor and his cortège had left the Kouter the soldiers broke ground and ran wild throughout the city. No special lodgings had been allotted to them, but apparently they had been told that they could quarter themselves where they listed. They began by taking possession of the covered markets--and this could easily have been tolerated; but many of them raided the houses of peaceful citizens in a manner most unseemly and often brutal, making terrible noise and confusion throughout the city. They treated the owners of the houses as if the latter were nought but menials and they themselves the masters of the place; so much so indeed that several families left their homes in the possession of these soldiery, and took refuge with relations who had not been thus inflicted.

Terror and misery had rapidly spread throughout the city. There were many who had not heard the proclamation of the Lieutenant-Governor, and when the rumour reached them that numbers of soldiers were billeted in the town they made preparations for immediate flight. Some even went so far as to load all their furniture and effects upon wagons, ready to go out of the city this very night--for they remembered how five years ago when first the Duke of Alva's troops were quartered in Ghent, how abominably they had behaved toward all the citizens--robbing, looting, and pillaging, for all the world as if they were bands of brigands, rather than disciplined soldiers.

Great was the terror and consternation of those who wanted to flee now when they understood that all the city gates were closed and that no one would be allowed to go through them until the Prince of Orange, who was said to be in Ghent, was delivered over to the Lieutenant-Governor.

This was indeed a terrible state of things and one destined to strike hopeless terror in the hearts of most, seeing that hardly any one inside the city knew aught of the Prince of Orange or of his comings and goings, and yet they were liable to be punished for treason in which they had had no share.

And in the meanwhile the soldiers ran riot throughout the city--even though, with much ostentation, a great deal of to-do and much beating of drums, their provosts read out at the four corners of the city a proclamation forbidding all looting and marauding, and enjoining the men under pain of hanging to take anything from the citizens without paying for it.

This proclamation was of course a mere farce, for the soldiers, despite the lateness of the hour, had at once raided the butchers', bakers', and other provision shops, and though they professed to pay for everything they took, they refused to give more than one sou for a pound of meat, and then they cut out all the bone, and threw it back in the face of the wretched butcher who tried to argue with them.

And all the while remember that these men were not Spaniards; they were Walloons of the provinces immediately adjacent to the two Flanders, and their kith and kin had also grievously suffered from Spanish arrogance and oppression. But what will men not do for money or under compulsion--or mayhap under that abject fear which the very name of Alva had brought forth into the heart of people who had once been so proud and so independent? The Seigneur de Vaernewyck puts it on record that in his opinion the employing of Walloon troops to check the so-called revolt of Ghent was an act of refined cruelty on the part of the Duke. He liked to pit brother against brother, kinsman against his own kind. He had cowed the Flemings and the Walloons to such an extent that now at last he could use one against the other, and could rely on each side being more cruel and relentless through that extraordinary perversion of human nature which makes civil strife so much more brutal and horrible than any war between the nations.

CHAPTER XIII

MY FAITHFUL WATCH-DOG

I

Some two hours later--in a long, low, vaulted room which was the refectory of the convent of the Sisters of St. Agneten--some two thousand men were assembled. They sat on wooden benches all round the two huge, horseshoe-shaped tables at which the Sisters were wont to take their meals. The room was situate on the ground floor of the convent building, and a row of low, groined windows ran the whole length of one of the walls; heavy curtains hung before all the windows, and portières were drawn over the doors at either end, both in order to deaden all sound and to prevent all light from showing without. Tallow candles burned in tall pewter candelabra at intervals upon the tables.

The bulk of the men who were there were young--or at any rate still in the prime of life, strong and well-knit in figure--the sort of men whom any leader would be glad to enrol as soldiers under his banner; but there were others among them who were grave and elderly--like Messire Deynoot, the Procurator-General, and the Baron van Grobbendock, chief financial adviser on the Town Council. Messire Pierre van Overbeque, Vice-Bailiff of Ghent, was also there, as well as Messires Lievin van Deynse, the wealthy brewer at the sign of the "Star of the North" in the Nieuwpoort, Laurence van Rycke, son of the High-Bailiff, and Frédéric van Beveren, wardmaster of the Guild of Armourers; and there were a good many others--gentlemen of substance and consideration in the town.

At this moment every one of those two thousand men were keeping their eyes fixed upon one who alone was standing under the dais at the end of the refectory where the abbess of the convent usually had her place. This portion of the room was raised two steps above the rest, and standing there, the man who thus held the attention of all the others looked abnormally tall, for he was dressed in doublet and hose of some dark stuff which clung to him like a skin. His high boots reached well over his thighs, his head was closely shrouded in a hood, and his face was hidden by a mask, made of untanned leather--which left the mouth only quite free.

"His Highness the Prince of Orange, whom may God protect," he was saying in a loud, clear voice which rang out from end to end of the room, "was fortunately able to furnish me with all your names and places of abode. With the help of Messire van Deynse, who lent us his horses, and Messire Laurence van Rycke and Frédéric van Beveren, who gave me their assistance, we were able to communicate with you all during the night and warn you of the imminent danger which hung over your heads."

"It was well done, friend Leatherface," said Messire Deynoot, "so well, indeed, that we are all ready and willing to place ourselves under your guidance and to accept you as our leader, for of a truth we know not what we must do."

"Would to God," said the man whom they called Leatherface, "that I could do more for you than the little which I have done. To each of you last night I gave the same warning: 'Danger is nigh! terrible! imminent! for our plans are discovered and the presence of the Prince of Orange in Ghent known to the Duke of Alva! Let all those who wish to do so leave the city at once with their wives and children, for death and torture threatens those who remain!'"

"As you see, my dear friend," said Lievin van Deynse, the wealthy brewer, quietly, "not one of us hath followed this portion of your advice."

"You are all brave men and noble sons of Flanders," quoth Leatherface earnestly. "His Highness is proud of you, he believes in you, he trusts you. A cause which has such men as you for its champions and defenders is assured of victory."

A murmur of satisfaction went round the room, and Leatherface resumed after a little while:

"In the meanwhile, with the help of God, the precious person of the Prince of Orange is safe."

A hearty cheer--quickly suppressed--greeted this announcement from every side. "Unfortunately," continued Leatherface, "I could not persuade His Highness to leave the city early this morning. He would not believe in the danger which was threatening him.... He would not believe that his plans and his presence here had been betrayed."

"Yes! betrayed!" now said one of the younger men vehemently, "and by whom? Dost know by whom, friend Leatherface?"

And all around the tables, grimly set lips murmured:

"By whom? My God! by whom were we betrayed?"

And Laurence van Rycke's glowing eyes were fixed upon the man under the canopy as if he would have torn the mask from off his face and read in those mysterious eyes the confirmation of his own horrible fears.

And Leatherface, looking straight into Laurence's pale and haggard face, said slowly:

"By one who hath already paid the full price for all the misery which that betrayal will bring in its wake."

"Dead?" came in awed yet eager query from most of them there.

Leatherface bent his head, but gave no direct reply, and all of them there were satisfied, for they believed that the faithful and wary watch-dog--justiciary as well as guardian angel--had discovered the betrayer, and had killed him, making him pay the "full price" for all the misery which he had brought about. Only Laurence hung his head and dared not ask any more.

II

"And now tell us about the Prince," urged Messire van Overbeque, the Vice-Bailiff. "Where is he now?"

"Well on his way to Brügge, please God," replied the man with the leather mask. "All day I had entreated him to go, but he refused to listen. 'You dream of treachery,' he said to me, 'and see it where none exists!' I spent the day scouting as far as Melle and Wetteren, for I felt that nothing would convince him but actual facts. At four o'clock in the afternoon the advance courier arrived from Alost. Luckily, his horse was less swift than mine. I managed to gain on him and brought in the news of the Duke of Alva's arrival to His Highness half an hour before the commandant of the garrison knew of it."

"Even then it might have been too late," quoth one of the listeners.

"It very nearly was," retorted Leatherface light-heartedly. "Had the Lieutenant-Governor sent advance orders that his arrival be kept a secret until his troops passed through the city gates, the Prince of Orange would still be in Ghent at this hour."

"Holy Virgin!" exclaimed Laurence van Rycke, "and what did you do?"

"His Highness donned doublet and hose of common buffle and pulled a tattered felt hat well over his eyes, as did also the Count of Hoogstraaten and young Count Mansfeld. I made myself look as like a draper's assistant as I could, and then the four of us joined the crowd. The rumour of the Duke's coming had spread all over the city; there were plenty of gaffers about. All round by the Waalpoort they abounded, and as the twilight slowly faded into dusk the approaches to the gate were densely packed. No one was allowed to loiter round the guard-house or upon the bridge, but there were many who, with overwhelming loyalty, desired to greet the Duke of Alva even before he reached the confines of the city. That was our opportunity. The commandant at the Waalpoort happened to be in rare good humour; he thought the idea of meeting the Lieutenant-Governor and his troops some way outside the city an excellent one. He allowed those who wished, to go across the bridge. The Prince of Orange, his two friends and I were merged in that crowd, and no one took notice of us. Directly we reached Meirelbeke we struck across the fields. In ten minutes we left the crowd a long way behind us, and had skirted the town as far as Wondelghem. We were in no danger then, but His Highness was greatly fatigued. There was a difficulty too about getting horses; young Count Mansfeld was footsore and the Count of Hoogstraaten perished with thirst. In short, it was six o'clock before we had the horses ready, and I had the satisfaction of seeing the Prince safely started on his way. When I returned it was close on eight, and the city gates had all been locked."

He gave a light, good-humoured laugh, and one of the men asked: "Then how did you get in?"

"I swam and I scaled the walls," he replied simply.

"But ... how?" asked another.

"Oh! I swim like a fish and climb like an ape...."

"But were you not seen?"

"Oh, yes! and shot at ... but the Spaniards are bad shots and ... I am here."

Again he laughed gaily, light-heartedly like a 'prentice after an escapade, and the two men who sat nearest him--the Procurator-General and the Baron van Groobendock--surreptitiously took hold of his hand and pressed it warmly.

III

"So much for the past, seigniors," resumed Leatherface, after awhile: "my duty is done. I leave the planning of the future to wiser heads than mine."

"No! no!" quoth the Vice-Bailiff emphatically. "Have we not said that we want you to lead us?"

"I?" retorted the other gaily. "What do I know of leadership? I am only His Highness' watch-dog. Let me follow a leader and bear my share in the present trouble. I am not fit to command...."

A murmur went round the room, and the Procurator-General rejoined earnestly: "The men will obey no one but you. Take off your mask, friend, and let us all look upon the face of a man."

"You have all despised me too much in the past to heed my counsels now."

"There you spoke a lie, man," said Messire van Deynse, the brewer. "We have all honoured the man whom we called Leatherface, as the bravest amongst us all. We do not know who you are--we only know you as a gallant gentleman to whom next to William of Orange himself we owe every triumph which our cause hath gained over our execrated tyrants. Therefore I pray you to unmask and let us know at least to whom--next to God Himself--we owe the life of the noble Prince of Orange, and also to whom we must look in future for guidance and leadership."

Once more the murmur went round the room: words of warm approval came from every side, whilst among the younger men the cry was raised and repeated insistently: "Unmask!"

"Unmask!" cried Laurence van Rycke. "Be you criminal or ne'er-do-well in the eyes of others, you are a hero in our sight."

"Unmask! unmask!" they reiterated unanimously.

The man with the leather mask then advanced to the very edge of the platform, and, putting up his hand, he asked for silence.

"Seigniors," he began, "I am your servant and will do as you wish. I have told you that I am no leader and am not fit to command ... yet you choose to honour me, and this is no time for false humility and the diffidence which is the attribute of cowards. But--despite your gracious choice of me as your leader in this terrible emergency--will you ere you finally decide to follow me hear from me what plan I should pursue, and to what heights of self-sacrifice I would ask you to rise in the face of the awful calamity which threatens our city. Seigniors," he continued, and indeed now save for the ring of that deep-toned voice, so great was the silence in the vast refectory that every heart-beat might have been heard, "you have heard the decree of our tyrant. Unless we deliver to him the precious person of our noble Prince, the whole city will be delivered over to the brutal soldiery, who will pillage our houses, desecrate our churches, murder and outrage our wives, our mothers and our children--just as they did in Mons, in Valenciennes and in Mechlin. Seigniors, we are men--all of us here--and at thought of what awaits us and our fellow-citizens our very heart blood seems to freeze with horror. It is of our women that we must think and of our children! Thank God that the Prince knows nothing of this decree--which hath been framed by the most inhuman monster the world hath ever known--or of a certainty he would have gone straight to the Kasteel and given up his precious life to save our fellow-citizens. Seigniors, what the Prince would have done, we know; and as he would have acted, so must we be prepared to act. But before I parted from him, I had his advice on the plan which I now beg leave to place before you. On my word of honour, seigniors, he approved of it in its entirety, and much that I will submit to you anon hath been framed under his guidance."

He paused awhile and through the holes in the mask his glowing eyes searched the faces of his listeners with a masterful glance that was both challenging and appealing.

"Every one of us here," he said abruptly, "is, I know, ready to sacrifice his life for faith, for freedom and country, and ere we give in to the monstrous tyranny which hath planned the destruction of our city we must fight, seigniors, fight to the death, fight for every inch of our ground, fight for every homestead which we would save from outrage. Death awaits us all anyhow, then at any rate with God's help let us die fighting to the end."

Once more he paused in order to draw breath, even whilst from every side there came emphatic words of enthusiasm and of approval. He held his hearers now in the hollow of his hand; they were unemotional, stolid men for the most part, these Flemish burghers and patricians--men who throughout the terrible oppression under which they had groaned for over fifty years had grimly set their teeth and endured where others had fought--because reason and common sense had shown the futility, the irreparableness of the conflict--but they were men, too, who, once roused to action, would never give in until they had won their fight or had been destroyed to the last man of them; and with that inspiring prophet standing there before them, stirring their sluggish blood with his ringing voice, some of that same determination began to creep into their bones which had animated valiant Orange and his brothers and his Dutch followers to carry on the struggle for freedom at all costs and with the last drop of their blood.

"We'll fight with you and under your standard, friend," said the Procurator-General who was the spokesman of the others. "We are well armed...."

"Aye! ye are well armed," rejoined Leatherface triumphantly. "The guild of armourers are with us to a man; and we have been able to supplement our secret stores with all the treasure in the magnificent armoury which Messire van Beveren has placed at our disposal in the name of his guild. Aye! we are well armed and well manned! There are two thousand of us, seigniors, and our numbers will be doubled before noon to-morrow. The Duke hath brought ten thousand soldiers with him! well! it will be a three-to-one fight; but if we were still more completely outnumbered we would still carry on the struggle, seeing that the lives of our children and the honour of our women are at stake."

"We can fight," murmured one of the older men, "but we cannot conquer."

"No! we cannot conquer," said Leatherface earnestly. "We must perish, because might is greater than right, unless God chooseth to perform a miracle--and I, for one, still believe that He will. But we must not weaken our determination by reckoning childishly on divine interference. If we fight, we fight because we refuse to die like cowards, because we refuse to go before our Maker shamed at having allowed our homes to be devastated, our women outraged, our children massacred without striking a blow--however futile--in their defence. We fight then, seigniors?" he added exultantly. "Is that your decision?"

There was not one dissentient voice. Old and young, grave and gay, prudent and hot-headed, every man there was ready to follow the leader of their choice.

"For freedom, faith and country!" cried Leatherface loudly.

"For freedom, faith and country," came from two thousand panting throats.

"As to our plan of campaign," now resumed the man with the mask as soon as silence and calm was restored once more, "I have not yet had the time to think on all the details soberly. But the main outline of it was dictated to me by the Prince of Orange even whilst we halted at Wondelghem, waiting for horses. He is the finest military strategist the world hath ever known, misfortune hath pursued him, but hath not impaired his marvellous powers of command. I will ask some of you, seigniors, to aid me with your counsels, and with the directions which His Highness hath given me we may yet give such a fine account of ourselves as will force our tyrants to treat with us for peace. There are only two thousand of us now; by to-morrow we can reckon on several thousands more; but of a certainty at the first clash of arms all our young and able-bodied fellow-citizens will take heart and join us in our desperate struggle, and may God help us all!"

There is no doubt that he had enflamed the blood of his hearers; by the dim light of the tallow candles every face now looked flushed, every pair of eyes glowed with the noble fire of patriotism and of courage. Leatherface waited for a time in silence while whispered conversation and discussion became general. He did not join in it himself, but stood somewhat apart from the others, the cynosure of all eyes, a strange, almost mysterious figure in his tightly-fitting clothes which gave full play to the powerful muscles of arms and thighs and displayed the great breadth of shoulder and depth of chest. Many there were who still eyed him curiously; Laurence van Rycke in particular did not take his eyes off him, but no one thought of challenging him again to unmask. What mattered what the face was like, when the heart was so great and fine?

IV

After a few minutes the man with the mask once more advanced to the edge of the platform. There was still something that he wished to say.

"We must not forget, seigniors," he began very quietly, "that the tyrant hath given us a respite of forty-eight hours before he will embark on his hellish work of destruction. He hath demanded the person of the Prince of Orange as the price of his mercy. Well, seigniors, the Prince, thank God, is no longer here; but it is just possible that we may bribe the wild beast yet into satisfaction by giving him some of the blood for which he thirsts, and thus save our beautiful city from all the horrors which he hath in contemplation against her."

"And how wilt do that, friend?" sighed, Messire van Overbeque despondently.

"With your permission I will explain," rejoined the other. "I propose that anon in the early morning a certain number of you seek out the Duke of Alva in Het Spanjaard's Kasteel and tell him that the Prince of Orange--aided by his humble watchdog--did succeed in evading once again the trap which had been set for him; but," he continued with slow and deliberate emphasis, "that you are prepared to deliver into his hands the person of the man Leatherface, since you happen to know his whereabouts in the city."

For a moment he could not continue, loud and vehement protestations against this monstrous proposal arose from every side.

"I entreat you, seigniors, to remember," he continued with deep earnestness as soon as the tumult had subsided, "that a certain amount of mystery hath hung--not through mine own seeking, believe me--around my person. Next to our Prince himself, there are few in this unfortunate country whose death would be more welcome to our Spanish tyrants than that of the miscreant Leatherface; and my belief is that if you offered to give him up to the Lieutenant-Governor you might obtain from that cruel despot a small measure of mercy for our city."

He had long since finished speaking, but now there were no longer any protestations or murmurs; an awesome silence hung about the vaulted room. No one had stirred; no one spoke; not one man dared to look his neighbour in the face. Every man stared straight before him at that slim figure, which suddenly appeared to them all, to be unearthly as it stood there, beneath the canopy, like the very personification of simple self-sacrifice, offering up his life so willingly, and above all, so cheerfully to save his fellow-men.

In these days of cruel oppression and of sublime virtues, such an act of abnegation was probably not rare; men were accustomed to suffer death and worse for an ideal, and for the sake of others who were weaker than themselves; but there was something so engaging, so light-hearted in that stranger there that every man who heard him felt that by sacrificing such a man he would be sending a brother, a son, or dear friend to the gallows.

"Well, seigniors," said Leatherface, "I still await your decision."

"You speak glibly, friend," murmured the Procurator-General sombrely, "but if the tyrant hath you in his power, it will not only mean death for you, remember, it will not mean the axe or the gallows, it will mean the torture-chamber of the Inquisition first and the stake afterwards."

"I know that," retorted the other simply. "Better men than I have gone through it all for faith and freedom. I am young, 'tis true--but I have no ties of interest or affection that bind me to this earth. Few men will go to their Maker so little regretted by kith or kin as I shall be. So I pray you do not think of me. Rather turn your thoughts, I entreat, to the details of the plan, the composition of the deputation that would be prepared to meet the Duke of Alva to-morrow. Those posts, too, will be full of danger, and the negotiations, too, might fail--what is the life of one man worth when weighed in the balance with an entire city?"

"And which of us would you entrust with the abominable errand?" queried Laurence van Rycke abruptly.

"Not you, of a certainty," said the other. "Your mother will have need of comfort and protection, since she refused to place herself in safety. Messire the Procurator-General should, I think, lead the deputation, he hath never been suspected of heresy or rebellion, and the proposal would thus come quite naturally from him; if Messire van Overbeque will join him and you, Seigneur van Groobendock, meseems that we could not choose better."

"Nay! I cannot do it," interposed the Vice-Bailiff vehemently. "I would sooner cut off my right hand now."

"Would you sooner sacrifice this city, all the women and children, your own wife, Messire, and daughters, rather than one man whose identity you need never know?"

It was indeed a terrible puzzle, one which even these brave men found it hard to solve.

"I entreat you, seigniors," continued Leatherface earnestly, "to do what I ask. Nay!" he added resolutely, "I'll do more. Just now you chose me as your leader. Then I command you to act in accordance with my will."

"You are quite determined, then?" asked the Vice-Bailiff.

"Would you counsel me to waver?" retorted the other. "Ah, seigniors!" he added, with that ringing note in his voice which was so inspiring to them all, "I entreat you do not grieve for me. Rather grieve for yourselves and gather courage for your errand. So help me God, yours will be no easy task. You will have to fawn and to cringe before the tyrant whom you hate. You will have to bear his arrogance and the insolence of his menials. You will have to swallow your wrath and to bend your pride. Your sacrifice indeed will be far harder to make than mine. I only offer mine own unworthy life; you will offer up to-morrow your dignity, your manhood, all that you and your fathers hold so dear. Nay! I would not change places with you for ten such worthless lives as mine. See, what a coward I am--I send you to do this abominable errand, while I sit at home in comfort and dream of the happiness of giving my life for Ghent and for her children!"

"God help us all!" murmured Messire Deynoot, the Procurator-General.

"Indeed, He alone can do that," rejoined Leatherface, "for grave fears assail me that our proposal will be rejected; is it likely that it would appeal to such a blood-thirsty tyrant as the Duke of Alva? My one hope--and that alas! is a slender one--is that he hath it not in his mind to destroy our beautiful city, and might be glad of an excuse of exercising mercy."

A groan of execration greeted this suggestion. Was it likely that any thought of mercy could ever enter the mind of such a man?--more cruel than any beast of prey, for he killed for the mere sake of killing, inflicted inhuman tortures on innocent victims for the sake of gloating over their sufferings, and rejoiced in bloodshed and outrage and desecration for their own sakes, without any thought of benefiting himself.

"Then if these negotiations fail, seigniors," concluded Leatherface finally, "nothing will be left for us but a bitter struggle which may end in defeat, but which will leave us proud and unconquered still."

"Amen to that," said the Procurator-General fervently.

"Then let us go quietly to our homes to-night. Let us keep from those who are weak and anxious all knowledge of that which we have resolved; let our women pray while we prepare to act. Flemish women have hearts of steel; they will not waver when the hour comes. They will help us with their prayers now, and load our arquebuses for us when we need them. For them we will fight and for our children, and if defeat stares us in the face at the last, then will we save them by one supreme act from falling into the hands of the tyrant. Until then and after, seigniors, allow me to keep this mask upon my face. When you go to meet the Duke of Alva to-morrow, you will offer him a paltry chattel, a man whom you do not know, who hath no name, no identity, the spy of the Prince of Orange--just him whom you call Leatherface."

"God reward you," they murmured fervently.

"Perhaps He will," whispered the man with the mask, under his breath, "and with a speedy death!"

"And now," he added, "as the hour is late, let us disperse. To-morrow, here, and at this hour, we meet again. Messire Deynoot will give you a report of his audience with the tyrant, and I may be lucky enough to be allowed to give my life for this city which I love. Farewell, seigniors, may God guard you until then. If Alva will have none of me, then I will have the honour of leading you--to victory, I hope--to death if God wills!"

One by one they rose from the benches where they had been sitting, and all took what they believed to be a last farewell of that strange man whose identity was still unknown to them, yet whom they had all learned to love as a leader and as a friend. Indeed, their noble hearts were torn asunder by the awful alternative which he himself had placed for them. It was a case of grim determination, of smothering every call of Sentiment which might prove insistent against thus sacrificing a brave man to the cruel lust of an abominable tyrant. It had to be, and these men were fine and great enough in themselves to understand that in offering up his life to save his fellow-citizens, Leatherface had certainly chosen the better part.

And having looked their last on him, they went out through the postern gate of the convent of St. Agneten in groups of twos and threes. They crossed the two bridges that span the Leye at this point. The night was dark, and this was an isolated part of the city, situate far from the Stadthuis and the Kouter. From the St. Baafs and St. Nikolas quarters of the city came faintly echoing across the river the sound of riotous merriment proceeding from those buildings and houses wherein the Walloon soldiery had installed themselves. But the men who had just pledged themselves to fight a losing battle against overwhelming odds paid no heed to what went on around them. They glided noiselessly through the dark and narrow streets; some went to right, some to left, some to north and others to south, and quietly regained their homes.

V

But in the vast refectory two men had remained behind after every one else had gone: they were the man with the mask, and Laurence van Rycke.

The latter had waited in silence whilst the whole of the assembly filed out by the door, but when Leatherface in his turn prepared to go, Laurence threw him such a look of appeal, that after an instant's hesitation, he too decided to wait.

Then when the last of the assembly had gone, Laurence tried to speak, but the words died in his throat ere they reached his quivering lips. There was still that look of mute appeal in his eyes, and of well-nigh unendurable mental torment in every line of his haggard face, and suddenly he gave a cry like some wounded creature in mortal pain; he fell on his knees against the table, and burying his face in his hands, he sobbed like a child. The other waited patiently and silently until the paroxysm was over: his mouth beneath the mask looked set but kindly, and his eyes through the holes in the leather were fixed upon the stricken man.

"She is safe from the vengeance of our people," he said, as soon as he saw that Laurence had momentarily regained his self-control. "Is that what troubles you, Messire?"

Laurence--already ashamed of his tears--had struggled to his feet. He passed his hand across his moist forehead and through his unruly hair, and tried to look Leatherface valiantly between the eyes.

"Partly that," he said resolutely. "But I'll not speak of her. It was she then who betrayed us all?" he added with another heartbroken cry.

To this Leatherface made no answer, and Laurence continued more calmly:

"It was of the lists I wish to speak. The papers which His Highness entrusted to my care."

"Yes?"

"I went to look for them after ... after she left the house, and found that they had gone."

"Then what did you do?"

"I knew that we were betrayed ... then ... there ... at once ... and by her ... an exquisite woman, Messire, whom I ... Oh! it was horrible!" he exclaimed, and even now a look that was almost like death came over his wan cheeks and hollow eyes.

Then once more he resumed quietly: "For a few moments the blow of this awful discovery completely stunned me. I could neither think nor act. My first coherent thought was to consult with my mother as to what had best be done. How to find His Highness until evening I knew not, or how to obtain duplicate lists, so that I could run round the town and warn all our followers of the terrible danger that threatened them."

"You did not think of flight? ... for your mother, I mean?..."

"I entreated my mother to leave the city at once, but she refused to go, and we were standing face to face with one another and the terrible calamity that had befallen us all when Pierre came in with a letter, which--he said--was given to him in the open street by a man whom he did not know. The letter, I take it, came from you."

"Yes," replied the other, "I was afraid that you might do something rash, and raise the alarm before it was necessary. The lists," he added, "are quite safe. I was able after His Highness left the High-Bailiff's house last night to extract them from the bureau, where I did not feel that they were over safe; in their place I put a packet containing fictitious lists of men who do not exist, and places of abode which are not to be found in this city. It is these which have been sent to señor de Vargas. I had just time to scribble these and to place them in a conspicuous place in the bureau."

"You used a false key then?" queried Laurence in bewilderment.

"Am I not a spy of the Prince of Orange?" retorted the other with a quaint little laugh, "and are not all spies provided with means of forcing secret locks? Here are the lists," he added, as from inside his doublet he half drew the packets of papers. "When you are called to account for them, you can return them without fear. No one will know that they ever left your care ... that is, if you have not spoken of it before now...."

"No. I had not the heart. We all knew that we were betrayed. You warned us all and took measures to convene us here to-night; but until the hour when your letter warned me that for the moment all was well, I endured mental torments such as surely the lost souls in hell have never suffered. I saw those lists in the hands of our tyrants--placed there by the instrumentality of a woman who is to me the embodiment of all that is pure and good; I saw--in my mind--the spies of Alva going the round, this very night, and arresting our brave followers one by one ... Oh God! you do not know what I suffered...."

"Do not think of that any more, Messire," rejoined Leatherface quietly. "As you see, the lists are now safe in my care. Alas! it is too late to beg you to take your mother out of the city. Guard and protect her well and God help us all."

He once more now prepared to go, and Laurence was ready to follow him, but just at the last an impulse caused the latter to detain the mysterious stranger once more. There was still one question which hovered on his lips, the answer to which would perhaps ease that awful burden of sorrow which Lenora's betrayal had placed upon his soul:

"Messire," he said appealingly, "what of her?"

"Pray for her, Messire," replied Leatherface quietly, "she suffers more than you do."

"Must we all curse her then? or else be traitors to our own people."

"Nay! you can pity her! What she did, she did from her own sense of patriotism and of justice. She hates us all, Messire, as the enemies of her people. She hates and despises me as the assassin of the man she loved. Pray for her, Messire, but in pity pray also for the man who whilst striving to win her heart, only succeeded in breaking his own."

VI

An hour later in the house in the Nieuwstraat, Clémence van Rycke was still awake. She sat in her favourite tall chair beside the hearth, and Laurence her son was kneeling beside her.

"It is too late now, mother," he was saying gloomily. "No power on earth can save you. Would to God you had let me take you to Brügge this afternoon."

"And desert my post like a coward," retorted Clémence hotly. "I can do little, 'tis true; but when the hour comes I can tend the sick and the dying, and pray for the dead; and if you are taken from me, Laurence, I can be laid beside you.... But," she added, with such an intensity of bitterness and hatred that her voice nearly choked her as she spoke, "I would not owe my safety to that execrable traitress..."

"Hush, mother, in the name of Heaven..." broke in Laurence with a heart-broken sob.

"Are you, too, going to defend her?" retorted the mother fiercely.

"She was compelled to act as she did," murmured Laurence; "she acted in ignorance and innocence. I'd stake my life that she is pure and good."

"Pure and good!" exclaimed Clémence with a strident laugh. "A spawn of the devil, without virtue and without mercy. Oh! that my lips should ever have touched her lying face--that white forehead which concealed thoughts of falsehood and treachery! Do not defend her, Laurence, or you will break my heart. Leave her defence to your brother Mark, who cares nothing for his country and for his kindred, who will smile and drink whilst the walls of Ghent fall about his ears, who hath allowed his weak and cowardly heart to be captured by that murderess! Leave him to defend her, I say. Lenora de Vargas is worthy of Mark van Rycke!"

"Mother!" cried Laurence with uncontrolled vehemence as he threw his arms round his mother's shoulders. "In the name of God stop, for you almost blaspheme. Speak not of Mark save with a blessing on your lips. Pray for him this night, as you have never prayed before."

"Laurence," cried the mother, "are you mad? What do you mean? What has happened to Mark? Where is he?"

"In his bed, no doubt, at this moment, mother."

"Sleeping whilst we all weep and pray!"

"Sleeping in peace whilst giving up life, and more than life, to try and save us all!" retorted Laurence, as he slowly rose to his feet.

"Laurence! you are mad! Mark is..."

"Mark is the friend and saviour of the Prince of Orange, mother dear," said the young man quietly, "and we have all known him hitherto as Leatherface."

"It is false!" cried Clémence vehemently.

"I swear by God that it is true," proclaimed Laurence, fervently.

The exclamation which she would have uttered froze upon Clémence van Rycke's lips; for a moment she remained quite still, leaning slightly forward with hands resting upon the arms of the chair. Then a pitiable moan escaped her, and slowly she rose and then fell upon her knees.

"Oh God! forgive me," she cried, "if this be true."

"It is true, mother," said Laurence firmly. "For close on two hours to-night I sat close to him whilst he spoke. In the absence of the Prince of Orange we have chosen him as our leader; if the Duke of Alva refuses the proposals which we are going to put before him, Mark will lead us to fight or to death."

"The proposal! What proposal?"

"That Leatherface be given up to the tyrant as the price of the safety of the city."

"And you--his brother--agreed to this infamous suggestion?" murmured Clémence hoarsely.

"We must not leave a stone unturned or a man alive to save the women and children," replied Laurence sombrely.

"Then may God have mercy on us all!" cried Clémence, and she fell back heart-broken against the cushions of her chair.

CHAPTER XIV

THE TYRANTS

I

The next morning, at the tenth hour, five reverend seigniors presented themselves before the Duke of Alva, Lieutenant-Governor of the Low Countries and Captain-General of the Forces, in the apartments which he occupied in Het Spanjaards Kasteel.

They were Messire Pierre van Overbeque, Vice-Bailiff of Ghent; Messire Deynoot, Procurator-General, and Messire Jan van Migrode, Chief Sheriff of the Keure; then there was Messire Lievin van Deynse, the brewer at the sign of the "Star of the North," and Baron van Groobendock, chief financial adviser on the Town Council.

They had waited on His Highness at a very early hour, but had been kept waiting in the guard-room for two hours, without a chair to sit on, and with a crowd of rough soldiers around them, some of whom were lounging about on the benches, others playing at cards or dice, whilst all of them improved the occasion and whiled away the time by indulging in insolent jests at the expense of the reverend burghers, who--humiliated beyond forbearance and vainly endeavouring to swallow their wrath--did not dare to complain to the officer in command, lest worse insults be heaped upon them.

At one hour before noon the seigniors were at last told very peremptorily that they might present themselves before His Highness. They were marched between a detachment of soldiers through the castle yard to the magnificent apartments in the Meeste-Toren, which at one time were occupied by the Counts of Flanders. Now the Duke of Alva's soldiery and his attendants were in every corridor and every ante-room. They stared with undisguised insolence at the grave seigniors who belonged to the despised race.

The Lieutenant-Governor was graciously pleased to receive the burghers in his council-chamber where, seated upon a velvet-covered chair upon an elevated platform and beneath a crimson dais, he looked down upon these free citizens of an independent State as if he were indeed possessed of divine rights over them all. The officer in command of the small detachment which had escorted the deputation into the dreaded presence, now ordered the five seigniors to kneel, and they, who had a petition to present and an act of mercy to entreat, obeyed with that proud humility wherewith their fathers had knelt thirty-two years ago in sackcloth and ashes before the throne of the Emperor Charles.

"Your desire, seigniors?" queried the Duke curtly.

Some of the members of his abominable Grand Council sat around him, on benches placed well below the level of the platform. Alberic del Rio was there--bland and submissive; President Viglius, General de Noircarmes, and President Hessels--men who were as bitter against Orange and his followers as was Alva himself--and, sitting a little apart from the others, don Juan de Vargas, but recently arrived from Brussels.

"Your desire, seigniors?" the Duke had questioned peremptorily, and after a few moments Messire Deynoot, the Procurator-General, who was spokesman of the deputation, began timidly at first--then gradually more resolutely.

"It is with profound grief," he said, "that we became aware last night that your Highness' visit to our city was not one of goodwill and amity. Your Highness' severe restrictions upon our citizens and stern measures taken against them hath filled our hearts with sorrow."

"Your abominable treachery hath filled our heart with wrath," retorted the Duke roughly, "and nothing but the clemency enjoined upon us by our suzerain Lord and King prevented us from reducing this accursed city to ashes and putting every one of her citizens to the sword, without giving them a single chance of retrieving their hellish conduct by surrendering themselves unconditionally to our will."

"It is with the utmost confidence," rejoined the Procurator-General humbly, "that we rely upon the well-known clemency of our suzerain Lord the King, and place the future of our beautiful city unconditionally in your Highness' hands."

"The future of the city is in my hands, Messire," said the Duke dryly, "by the power of our suzerain Lord and with the help of the troops at my command. I told you last night under what condition I will spare your town from total destruction. I am not in the habit of changing my mind during the course of one night."

"Alas, your Highness! but the city is quite unable to fulfil the one condition which would appease the wrath of our suzerain Lord and your own."

"Then," retorted Alva haughtily, "why waste my time and your own in bandying words which must remain purposeless? Either William of Orange is delivered into my hands, or my soldiers burn your city down at sunset to-morrow. By our Lady! is that not clear enough?"

"Clear enough, alas!" rejoined the Procurator-General, and suddenly in his mind there rose a picture of the tall man last night beneath the dais, of his inspiring words, his whole-hearted sacrifice: his ringing voice seemed to echo through this narrow room, and some of the words which he spoke knocked at the gates of the grave seignior's memory.

"Yours will be the harder task," he had said gaily; "you will have to fawn and to cringe, to swallow your wrath and to bend your pride!" Well! God knew that they had done all that: they had swallowed their wrath and bent their pride before an insolent soldiery, and now they were fawning and cringing to a tyrant whom they abhorred.

Ghent! beloved city! once the home of the free! what must thy citizens endure for thy sake?

And the Procurator-General--the descendant of an hundred free men--had to lick the dust before Alva's throne. He forced his voice to tones of humility, he looked up at the tyrant with eyes full of unspoken devotion.

"What can we do?" he said timidly, "to prove our loyalty? I entreat your Magnificence to look down on our helplessness. Orange is no longer in Ghent, and we do not know where to find him."

"A pretty tale, indeed," interposed de Vargas suddenly, with a strident laugh which was echoed obsequiously by the other members round the council board, "a pretty, likely tale, which I trust your Highness will not think to believe."

"I neither believe nor disbelieve any tale which these grave seigniors choose to tell me," rejoined the Duke. "I want Orange--or we burn this city down till not a stone in it be left upon stone."

And Messire Deynoot, whose entire soul rose in revolt against that rough dictate of a hellish tyrant, had perforce to subdue his passionate wrath and to speak with affected humility and unconcern.

"We had hoped," he said quietly, "that we might offer to your Highness such a proof of our loyalty that you would no longer wish to cast aside a city that hath always hitherto proved staunch and true."

"What mean you, sirrah? What proofs can you give me now of this accursed city's loyalty, when you harbour a veritable army of traitors within your walls?"

"We would wish to prove to your Magnificence that the city itself takes no part in the vagaries and plottings of a few hot-headed malcontents."

"Hot-headed malcontents, forsooth!" exclaimed the Duke fiercely. "Two thousand men prepared to take up arms against our Suzerain Lord the King! ... arms concealed in churches and cemeteries! money poured into the lap of Orange and all his rebels!"

"There are more than two thousand men who are prepared to fight and die for their country and their King," said the Fleming suavely, "and who are equally ready to pour money into the coffers of their Liege Lord, as represented by His Highness Ferdinand Alvarez de Toledo, Duke of Alva, and by the reverend members of his Council."

This he had said very slowly and with marked emphasis, and even while he spoke he had the satisfaction of seeing more than one pair of eyes round that Council board gloating with delight at the vision of treasure and wealth which his words had called forth. He and his colleagues had long after the assembly of last night discussed between them this one proposal, which might, they hoped, tempt the cupidity of the Spaniards, which they knew to be boundless. They were wealthy men all of them--the town was wealthy beyond the dreams of Alva's avarice, and the five men who had been deputed to offer up a brave man's life as the price of a city's safety, had resolved to sacrifice their last stiver, and keep the hero in their midst.

But Alva, with a sneer, had already destroyed all the fond hopes which had been built upon that resolve.

"If you offered me every treasure--to the last gulden--contained in your city," he said, with emphasis no less strongly marked than had been the other man's offer, "I would not deny myself the pleasure of razing this abominable nest of rebels to the ground. Why should I," he added with a cynical shrug of the shoulders, "take from you as a bribe what my soldiers can get for me by the might of fire and sword? Orange alone would tempt me, for I would wish to have him alive--we might kill him by accident when we destroy the town."

"We can collect two million gulden in gold," said Messire Deynoot insinuatingly, "and lay that sum at the feet of your Magnificence to-morrow."

"Ah?" said the Duke blandly, "then I am greatly relieved that so much money can be got voluntarily out of this city. Your words, Messire, are honey to mine ears; they prove, beyond a doubt, that if you can raise two million gulden in forty-eight hours my soldiers can put up ten times that amount in a two days' sacking of this town."

"The money voluntarily offered, Monseigneur," here interposed the Vice-Bailiff, "would shame neither the giver nor the receiver. The destruction of a free and loyal city would be an eternal disgrace upon the might of Spain."

"Spare me thy heroics, sirrah!" quoth Alva fiercely, "or I'll have that impudent tongue of thine cut out before nightfall."

And once more the burghers had to bend their pride before the appalling arrogance of their tyrant.

"Begone now!" added the Lieutenant-Governor peremptorily, seeing that the Flemings were silent for the moment. "The business of the State cannot be held up by such profitless talk. And if you have nothing better to offer to our Gracious King than money which is already his, why, then, you are wasting my time, and had best go back to those who sent you."

"No one sent us, Monseigneur," resumed the Procurator-General, with as much dignity as he could command, even though his back ached and his knees were painfully cramped. "We are free burghers of the city of Ghent, which, alas! hath earned your Highness' displeasure. We have offered of our treasure so as to testify to our loyalty ... but this offer your Magnificence hath thought fit to refuse. At the same time we are not at the end of our resources or of our protestations of loyalty. We have yet another offer to place before your Highness which, perhaps, may be more agreeable in your sight."

"And what is that offer, sirrah? Be quick about it, as my patience, of a truth, is at the end of its resources."

The Procurator-General did not make immediate reply. Truly he was screwing up his determination for the terrible ordeal which was before him. He hung his head, and, despite his fortitude--probably because of weakness following on fatigue--he felt that tears gathered in his eyes, and he feared that his voice now as he spoke would become unsteady. The others, too, kept their eyes fixed to the ground. They could not bear to look on one another, at this moment when they were about to offer up so brave and gallant a life in sacrifice for their city and for all the townsfolk. Indeed, Messire Deynoot ere he spoke forced his mind to dwell upon all the horrors of Mons and Valenciennes and Mechlin, upon all the women and children, the feeble and the old, his own wife, his daughters and his mother, so as to gather courage for the task which had been imposed upon him.

Thus there was silence for a minute or so in this narrow room, wherein the close velvet draperies made the air heavy, so that the number of men here assembled--Spaniards and Flemings and soldiers--felt as if an awful load was weighing their senses down. Councillor Hessels, as was his wont, had fallen asleep. He woke up in the oppressive silence in order to murmur drowsily: "To the gallows with them all!" Alva sat sullen and wrathful, looking down with contempt and scorn on the kneeling burghers before him. De Vargas, now and again, turned anxious, furtive eyes to where a rich portière of damask-velvet hid a door in the panelling of the wall. Even now it seemed as if that portiere stirred--as if an unseen hand was grasping it with a febrile nervous clutch--it seemed, in fact, as if some one lived and breathed there behind the curtain, and as if all that was said and would be said in the room would find its echo in a palpitating heart.

II

Anon the Duke of Alva's impatience broke its bounds: "An you'll not speak, sirrah," he cried, "get you gone! Get you gone, I say, ere I order my lacqueys to throw you out of my house."

"Your pardon, Monseigneur," said Messire Deynoot with sudden resolution, "I but paused in order to choose the words which might best please your ears. The offer which I am about to make to your Highness is in the name of all the citizens of Ghent, and I feel confident that your Highness will gladly acknowledge that no greater mark of loyalty could be offered by any town to our suzerain Lord the King."

"Speak!" commanded Alva.

"Next to the Prince of Orange himself," said the Procurator-General timidly, "is there not a man who hath gravely incurred your Highness' displeasure, but who hath hitherto evaded the punishment which your Highness would no doubt mete out to him?"

"Yes; there is!" replied the Duke curtly. "A man who chooses to wrap himself up in a mantle of mystery; a spy of Orange--a rebel and traitor to the King. There is such a man, sirrah! He hath several times thwarted my projects with regard to Orange. If, as you say, Orange is not in Ghent then hath that man had a hand in helping him to get away. Well! what of that man, sirrah? I want him. He is called Leatherface by my soldiers. What of him, I say?"

"Leatherface is in Ghent, Monseigneur," murmured Deynoot, scarce above his breath.

"Come! that's good! Then will our booty be even richer than we thought."

"Leatherface is in Ghent, Monseigneur," continued Deynoot, more steadily. "But he is an elusive creature. Mysterious agencies are at work, so they say, to enable him to escape the many traps that are set for him. He swims like a fish, and climbs like an ape. He entered the city last night, an hour after all the gates had been closed. In the terrible confusion which will attend the destruction of our city, he would escape again.... But just now he is in Ghent, and..."

"And you will deliver him over to me," broke in Alva with a harsh laugh, "if I will spare your city?"

The Procurator-General nodded his head in reply. His lips refused him service for that awful, that irreparable "Yes!" The five men now no longer hung their heads. White as the linen ruffles round their throats, they were gazing straight into the face of the tyrant, trying to read the innermost thoughts of that inhuman devil, who held the destiny of their city--or of a brave man--in the hollow of his claw-like hands.

Alva pondered; and while he did so his prominent, heavy-lidded eyes sought those of his colleagues no less inhuman, more devilish mayhap, than himself. And from behind the heavy portière there seemed to come a long drawn-out sigh, like some poor creature in pain. De Vargas frowned, and a muttered curse escaped his lips.

"How long has she been there?" asked Alva quickly, in a whisper.

"All the time," replied de Vargas, also under his breath.

"But this is not for women's ears."

"Nay! your Highness does not know my daughter. It was the man Leatherface who killed her first lover. She would be happy to see him hang."

"And she shall, too. She hath deserved well of us. We owe our present triumph to her."

Then he turned once more to the burghers.

"I like your offer," he said coldly, "and, in a measure, I accept it.... Nay!" he added with that cruel and strident laugh of his, seeing that at his words a certain look of relief overspread the five pale faces before him, "do not rejoice too soon. I would not give up the delight of punishing an entire city for the mere pleasure of seeing one man hang. True! I would like to hold him. Next to Orange himself, I would sooner see that mysterious Leatherface dangling on a gibbet than any other heretic or rebel in this abominable country. But to give up my purpose over Ghent, that is another matter! Once and for all, seigniors," he added with fierce and irrevocable determination, "Ghent shall burn, since Orange has escaped again. But I have said that I accept your offer, and I do. I take it as an expression of tardy loyalty, and will reward you in accordance with its value. We will burn your city, seigniors; but if when your flaming walls begin to crumble about your ears; when my soldiery have taken their fill of your money and your treasures, and human lives begin to pay the toll of your rebellion and treachery, then, if you deliver to me the person of Leatherface alive, I will, in return, stay my soldiers' hands, and order that in every homestead one son and one daughter, aye, and the head of the house, too, be spared. Otherwise--and remember that this is my last word--not one stone shall remain upon stone within the city--not one inhabitant, man, woman, or child, shall be left to perpetuate rebellion inside these walls. I have spoken, and now go--go and tell Leatherface that I await him. He hath not aided Orange's escape in vain."

He rose, and with a peremptory gesture pointed to the door. The five burghers were silent. What could they say? To beg, to implore, to remonstrate would, indeed, have been in vain. As well implore the fierce torrent not to uproot the tree that impedes its course, or beg the wolf not to devour its prey. Painfully they struggled to their feet, roughly urged along by the soldiers. They were indeed cramped and stiff, as well mentally as physically; they had done their heart-breaking errand--they had swallowed their wrath and humbled their pride--they had cringed, and they had fawned and licked the dust beneath the feet of the tyrant who was in sheer, lustful wantonness sending them and their kith and kin--guilty and innocent alike--to an abominable death.... And they had failed--miserably failed either to bribe, to cajole, or to shame that human fiend into some semblance of mercy. Now a deathlike sorrow weighed upon their souls. They were like five very old men sent tottering to their own graves.

Some could hardly see because of the veil of tears before their eyes.

But, even as one by one they filed out of the presence of the tyrant, they still prayed ... prayed to God to help them and their fellow-citizens in this the darkest hour of their lives. Truly, if these valiant people of Flanders had lost their faith and trust in God then they would have gone absolutely and irretrievably under into the awful vortex of oppression which threatened to crush the very existence of their nation, and would have hurled them into the bottomless abyss of self-destruction.

CHAPTER XV

TWO PICTURES

I

These stand out clearly among the mass of documents, details, dissertations and chronicles of the time--so clearly indeed that only a brief mention of them will suffice here.

First: Lenora in the small room which adjoined the council chamber within Het Spanjaard's Kasteel in Ghent. She had stood for close upon an hour under the lintel of the open door, her hand clinging to the heavy velvet portière; not one sound which came from the council chamber failed to strike her ear: every phase of that awesome interview between the supplicants and their vengeful tyrant struck at her heart, until at last unable to keep still, she uttered a moan of pain.

All this was his work! Not hers! Before God and her own conscience she felt that she could not have acted differently; that if it had all to be done again, she would again obey the still, insistent voice which had prompted her to keep her oath and to serve her King and country in the only way that lay in her power.

It was his work! not hers! His, whose whole life seemed to be given over to murder, to rebellion and to secret plottings, and who had tried to throw dust in her eyes and to cajole her into becoming a traitor too to all that she held dear.

It was his work, and the terrible reprisals which the Duke of Alva's retributive justice would mete out to this rebellious city lay at the door of those who had conspired against the State, and not at hers who had only been an humble tool in Almighty hands.

But in spite of her inner conviction that she had done right, in spite of her father's praise and approval which he had lavished on her all the way from Dendermonde to Ghent, she could not rid herself of a terrible sense of utter desolation and utter misery, and of a feeling of pity for all these poor people which caused her unendurable--almost physically unendurable--agony.

When anon the Lieutenant-Governor dismissed the burghers and after a few words with her father and señor del Rio left the council chamber, Lenora had a feeling as if the ground was opening before her, as if an awful chasm yawned at her feet into which she must inevitably fall if she dared look into it. And yet she looked and looked, as if fascinated by the hideousness of what she saw--pictures of cruelty and of evil far more horrible than any which had ever been limned of hell. And in the overwhelming horror which faced her now, she felt herself screaming aloud, with appealing defiance: "It is his work! not mine! Let the blood of his kinsfolk fall upon him--not me!" ere she tottered and fell back.

When full consciousness returned to her, her father was by her side. He looked pale and sullen and instinctively she drew away from him, whereat he smiled, showing his large teeth which looked like the fangs of a wolf.

"I ought never to have allowed you to come here, Lenora," he said roughly. "As His Highness said, it was not at all fit for women's ears."

"His Highness," she retorted coldly, "also said that to be here was my right ... your triumph to-day being all due to me."

"Well!" he added lightly, "'tis you wanted to come, remember."

"Yes," she said, "I wanted to come."

"I would have sent you to Brussels with Inez and a good escort. It is not too late. You can still go. Ghent will not be a fitting place for women during the next few days," he added, whilst a glow of evil satisfaction suddenly lit up his sallow face. "Would you prefer to go?"

"No, father, I thank you," she replied. "I would wish to stay."

"Ah! that's a brave daughter, and a true Spaniard," he cried, "and I promise you that you shall be satisfied with what you see. Ramon, your cousin, will be avenged more completely than even you could have dared to hope, and that assassin Leatherface will suffer: you shall see him dangling on a gibbet, never fear."

A slight shudder went right through her. Her face was as white as her gown; and as she made no reply, her father continued blandly:

"You little thought that your marriage would bring such a magnificent harvest of reprisals quite so soon! The city of Ghent and the man Leatherface! The destruction of the one and the death of the other are your work, my daughter."

She closed her eyes; for she saw that awful chasm once more yawning at her feet, and once more she felt herself falling ... falling ... with no one to cling to but her father who kept asking her whether she was satisfied with what she had done.... His voice came to her as through a shroud ... he talked and talked incessantly ... of Ghent ... of rebels ... of murder and pillage and gibbets and torture-chambers ... of women and children and fathers of families ... of sons and of daughters ... and of one--Leatherface ... of the High-Bailiff of Ghent ... of Laurence and of Mark ... her husband.

"I wonder where that fool is now," she could hear her father saying through a muffler which seemed to envelop his mouth. "On the high road to Brussels mayhap with a message from you to me ... did you say you had sent him on from Dendermonde or straight away from Ghent? I am half sorry I gave in to your whim and brought you here with me ... but 'tis you wanted to come ... eh, my girl? ... you were so obstinate ... I was weak enough to give in ... but I ought not to have let you listen to those mealy-mouthed Flemings! ... ah! you are my true daughter ... you wanted to see these traitors punished, what? and Ramon's murder avenged! Well! you shall see it all, my dear, I promise you.... But I wish you could tell me what has become of that fool of a husband of yours ... we shall have to know presently if you are still wife or widow...."

He said this quite gaily and laughed at his own jest, and Lenora, pale and wild-eyed, echoed his laugh. She laughed as she had done two nights ago at Dendermonde when a face made up of lighted windows grinned at and mocked her across the Grand' Place. She laughed until the whole room began to dance a wild galliarde around her, until her father's face appeared like one huge, mocking grin.

Then she just glided from the couch down on to the floor. And there she lay, white and inert, whilst señor de Vargas, cursing the megrims of women, went calmly in search of help.

II

The second picture has for background the refectory in the convent of St. Agneten at the same hour as when last night the newly chosen, mysterious leader had roused boundless enthusiasm in the hearts of all his hearers. There is no lack of enthusiasm now either, but tempers are more subdued--gloom hangs over the assembly, for Messire the Procurator-General has just given a graphic account of his mission to the Lieutenant-Governor.

When he has finished speaking, the man with the mask who sits at the head of the table at the top of the long, low room, asks quietly:

"Then he refused?"

All the five men who this morning had knelt humbly before the tyrant, exchange silent glances, after which Messire Deynoot says firmly:

"He refused."

"Nothing will save our city," insisted Leatherface solemnly, "except if we track the Prince of Orange and bring him bound and a prisoner to the feet of Alva?"

"Nothing! save Orange's person will move Alva from his resolve."

Leatherface sits for a moment quite still, with his head buried in his hands: and the vast crowd now assembled in the room waits in breathless silence for his next word. There are far more than two thousand men here this night; the number has indeed been more than doubled. The deadly danger which threatens the city has already brought over three thousand new recruits to the standard.

Suddenly with a resolute gesture Leatherface draws his mask away and rises to his feet in full view of all the crowd.

"Mark van Rycke!" comes as one cry from several hundred throats.

"Aye!" he says with a light laugh, "your ne'er-do-well and frequenter of taverns was just the watch-dog of our noble Prince. Unknown I was able to render him some small service. Now that you are no longer called upon to throw me as a bait to the snarling lion, I'll resume mine own identity, and hereby ask you, if--knowing me for what I am--you still trust me to lead you to victory or to death?"

"To victory!" shout the younger men enthusiastically.

"To die like men," murmur the older ones.

"To-morrow we fight, seigniors!" says Mark earnestly, "to-morrow we defend our homes, our wives, our daughters, with scarce a hope of success. To-morrow we show to the rulers of the world how those of the down-trodden race can die whilst fighting for God and liberty."

"To-morrow!" they all assent with unbounded enthusiasm.

The ardour of a noble cause is in their veins. Not one of them here hesitates for one second in order to count the cost. And yet every one of them know that theirs is a forlorn cause. How can a handful of burghers and apprentices stand up before the might of Spain? But they are men at bay! they--the sober burghers of a fog-ridden land, steady, wise of counsel, without an ounce of impetuosity or hot-headedness in their blood; and yet they are ready to go into this desperate adventure without another thought save that of selling their lives and the honour of their women folk as dearly as they can.

For leader they have a man! for help they have only God! For incentive they have their own dignity, their pride, their valour ... for weapon they have the justice of their cause, and the right to die like men.

CHAPTER XVI

THE RIGHT TO DIE

I

And after the lapse of three hundred and more years the imagination projects itself into that past so full of heroic deeds, so full of valour and of glory, and stands still wondering before the glowing pictures which the insurrection of Ghent reveals.

Memory--the stern handmaiden of unruly imagination--goes back to that 21st day in October 1572 and recalls the sounds and sights which from early dawn filled the beautiful city with a presage of desolation to come; the church bells' melancholy appeal, the deserted streets, the barred and shuttered houses, the crowds of women and children and old men sitting at prayer in their own halls, the peaceful folk of a prosperous city quietly preparing for death.

At four o'clock in the afternoon the Duke of Alva rides out of the Kasteel with his staff and his bodyguard, which consists of three squadrons of cavalry, one bandera of Spanish infantry--halberdiers and pikemen--and five companies of harquebusiers, The Bandes d'Ordonnance--the local mounted gendarmerie--are on duty in the Vridachmart, and thither the Duke repairs in slow and stately majesty through silent streets, in which every window is shuttered, and where not one idler or gaffer stands to see him pass by. A cruel, ironical smile curls his thin lips beneath the drooping moustache as he notes the deserted aspect of the place.

"Terror," he mutters to himself, "or sulkiness. But they cannot eat their money or their treasures: and there must be a vast deal of it behind those walls!"

On the Vridachmart he halts with his armed escort grouped around him, the Bandes d'Ordonnance lining the market place, his standard unfurled behind him, his drummers in the front. Not a soul out upon the mart--not a head at any of the windows in the houses round! It seems as if Don Frederic Alvarez de Toledo, Duke of Alva, Lieutenant-Governor of the Netherlands and Captain-General of the Forces, was about to read a proclamation to a city of the dead.

A prolonged roll of drums commands silence for His Highness--silence which already is absolute--and then the Duke, in his usual loud and peremptory voice, demands the immediate surrender of the Prince of Orange now an outlaw in the town. And suddenly from every house around the huge market comes the answering cry: "Come and take him!" And from every doorway, from every adjoining street men come rushing along--with pikes and halberds and muskets, and from end to end of the town the defiant cry arises: "Come and take him!"

The Bandes d'Ordonnance, hastily summoned by the Duke to keep back the rabble, turn their arms against the Spanish halberdiers. Taking up the cry of "Come and take him!" they go over in a body to the side of the insurgents.

At once the Walloon arquebusiers are ordered to fire. The rebels respond this time with their own battle cry of "Orange and Liberty!" and a death-dealing volley of musketry. Whereupon the mêlée becomes general; the cavalry charges into the now serried ranks of the Orangists who are forced momentarily to retreat. They are pushed back across the mart as far as the cemetery of St. Jakab. Here they unfurl their standard, and their musketeers hold their ground with unshakable valour, firing from behind the low encircling wall with marvellous precision and quickness whilst two bodies of halbertmen and pikemen pour out in numbers from inside the church, and their artillerymen with five culverins and three falconets emerge out of the Guild House of the Tanners which is close by, and take up a position in front of the cemetery.

Alva's troops soon begin to lose their nerve. They were wholly unprepared for attack, and suddenly they feel themselves both outnumbered and hard-pressed. The Duke himself had been unprepared and had appeared upon the Vridachmart with less than two thousand men, whilst the other companies stationed in different portions of the city had not even been warned to hold themselves in readiness.

And just when the Spanish cavalry upon the Market Square is beginning to give ground the cry of "Sauve qui peut" is raised somewhere in the distance.

The Spanish and Walloon soldiery quartered in the various guild-houses, the open markets or private homesteads were just as unprepared for attack as was the garrison of the Kasteel. They had been promised that as soon as the evening Angelus had ceased to ring they could run wild throughout the city, loot and pillage as much as they desired, and that until that hour they could do no better than fill their heads with ale so as to be ready for the glorious sacking and destruction of the richest town in the Netherlands. Therefore, a goodly number of them--fresh from Mechlin--have spent the afternoon in recalling some of the pleasurable adventures there--the trophies gained, the treasure, the money, the jewels all lying ready to their hand. Others have listened open-mouthed and agape, longing to get to work on the rich city and its wealthy burghers, and all have imbibed a great quantity of very heady ale which has fuddled their brain and made them more and more drowsy as the afternoon wears on. Their captains too have spent most of the day in the taverns, drinking and playing hazard in anticipation of loot, and thus the men are not at the moment in touch with their commanders or with their comrades, and all have laid aside their arms.

And simultaneously with the mêlée in the Vridachmart, the insurgents have made a general attack upon every guild-house, every market, every tavern where soldiers are quartered and congregated. With much shouting and to-do so as to give an exaggerated idea of their numbers they fall upon the unsuspecting soldiers--Walloons for the most part--and overpower and capture them before these have fully roused themselves from their afternoon torpor; their provosts and captains oft surrender without striking a blow. In almost every instance--so the chroniclers of the time aver--fifty and sixty men were captured by a dozen or twenty, and within half an hour all the guild-houses are in the hands of the Orangists, and close on fifteen hundred Walloons are prisoners in the cellars below; whilst all the arms stowed in the open markets go to swell the stores of the brave Orange men.

But some of the Walloons and Spaniards contrive to escape this general rounding up and it was they who first raised the cry of "Sauve qui peut!"

Now it is repeated and repeated again and again: it echoes from street to street; it gains in volume and in power until from end to end of the city it seems to converge toward the Vridachmart in one huge, all dominating wave of sound: "Sauve qui peut!" and the tramp of running feet, the calls and cries drown the clash of lance and pike.

Suddenly the bowmen of the Orangists scale the low cemetery wall as one man and their defence is turned into a vigorous onslaught: the cavalry is forced back upon the market square, they catch up the cry: "Sauve qui peut! They are on us! Sauve qui peut!" They break their ranks--a panic hath seized them--their retreat becomes a rout. The Orangists are all over the cemetery wall now: they charge with halberd and pike and force the Spaniards and Walloons back and back into the narrow streets which debouch upon the Schelde. Some are able to escape over the Ketel Brüghe, but two entire companies of Spanish infantry and a whole squadron of cavalry are--so Messire Vaernewyck avers--pushed into the river where they perish to the last man.

II

At this hour all is confusion. The picture which the mind conjures up of the stricken city is a blurred mass of pikes and lances, of muskets and crossbows, of Spaniards and Walloons and Flemings, of ragged doublets and plumed hats--a medley of sounds: of arrows whizzing with a long whistling sound through the air, of the crash of muskets and clash of lance against lance, the appeal of those who are afraid and the groans of those who are dying--of falling timber and sizzling woodwork, and crumbling masonry, and through it all the awful cry of "Sauve qui peut!" and the sound of the tocsin weirdly calling through the fast gathering night.

And amidst this helter-skelter and confusion, the Duke of Alva upon his black charger--untiring, grim, terrible--tries by commands, cajoleries, threats, to rally those who flee. But the voice which erstwhile had the power to make the stoutest heart quake had none over the poltroon. He shouts and admonishes and threatens in vain. They run and run--cavalry, infantry, halbertmen and lancers--the flower of the Spanish force sent to subdue the Netherlands--they run; and in the general vortex of fleeing cavalry the Duke is engulfed too, and he is carried along as far as the Ketel Brüghe, where he tries to make a stand.

His doublet and hose are covered with mud and grime; his mantle is torn, his hat has fallen off his head and his white hair floats around his face which is as pale as death.

"Cowards!" he cries with fierce and maddened rage: "would you fly before such rabble?" But his voice has lost its magic; they do not heed him--they fly--past him and over the bridge to the safety of Het Spanjaard's Kasteel.

Then prudence dictates the only possible course, or capture might become inevitable. Cursing savagely and vowing more bitter revenge than ever before, the Duke at last wheels his horse round and he too hastens back to the stronghold--there to work out a plan of campaign against the desperate resistance of that handful of Flemish louts whom His Highness and all Spanish grandees and officials so heartily despise.

III

Half an hour later, and we see courier after courier sent flying from Het Spanjaard's Kasteel to every corner of the city.

The city gates--thank the God of the Spaniards!--have been well garrisoned and well supplied with culverins and balls, it is from there that help must come, for--strange to tell--those louts have actually invested the Kasteel and have the pretension to lay a regular siege to the stronghold.

Was there ever such a farce? A couple of thousand of an undisciplined rabble--they surely cannot be more--daring to pit themselves against a picked guard! Courier to the Waalpoort where Lodrono is in command! courier to the Braepoort!--Serbelloni is there with two culverins of the newest pattern and two hundred musketeers, the like of whom are not known outside the Spanish army!

The only pity is that the bulk of the forces inside the city are Walloons! such poltroons as they have already proved themselves, surrendering in their hundreds to those confounded rebels! they have been scattered like flies out of a honey-pot, and the entire centre of the city is in the hands of the Orangists. But, anyway, the whole affair is only a question of time; for the moment the evening is closing in fast and the position cannot therefore be improved before nightfall; but in the morning a general closing-in movement, from the gates toward the centre would hold the rebels as in a claw and break their resistance within an hour. In the meanwhile the morale of the troops must be restored. Attend to that, ye captains at the city gates!

Courier follows courier out of the gate-house of the Kasteel: naked men, ready to crawl, to swim, or to dive, to escape the vigilance of the Orangist lines. Impossible! Not one is able to cross the open ground beyond the castle moat; the houses on the further bank of the Schelde are filled with Orangists; bows and muskets are levelled from every window. The culverins are down below, covered by the angles of the cross-streets; the messengers either fall ere they reach the Schelde or are sent back the way they came.

Attend to the morale of your men, ye captains at the city gates! The Duke of Alva, with some three or four thousand men, is inside the Kasteel, and no orders or communication can be got from him now before morning. And just like the flies when driven out of the honey, fly, scared, to the edges of the pot, so the Walloon soldiers, those who have escaped from the guild-houses, go and seek refuge in the shadow of the guard-houses at the gates. But the tactics of the Orangists have worked upon their nerves. At first there had appeared but a rabble upon the Vridachmart, but since then the numbers are swelling visibly; insurgents seem to be issuing out of every doorway, from under every arch in the city ... they rush out with muskets and crossbows, with pikes and halberds; and to the Walloons--already unnerved and fatigued--their numbers appear to be endless and their arms of a wonderful precision. Their muskets are of the newest pattern such as are made in Germany, and these they use with marvellous skill, discharging as many as ten shots in one quarter of an hour, and none but the picked French musketeers have ever been known to do that.