He nodded curtly to the High-Bailiff, took no further notice of Mark andLaurence, but turned on his heel and went out of the room slamming thedoor behind him.
After he had gone, the three men remained silent for a while: theHigh-Bailiff feeling deeply resentful against his son, would not trusthimself to speak. Mark was leaning against the window sill and staringmoodily out into the darkness. Laurence still held his head buried inhis hands.
The Spaniard's loud voice was heard giving orders to Pierre, then therecame the sound of bolts being pushed back, of the heavy oaken doorgroaning on its hinges, then the reclosing of the door and Pierre'sshuffling footsteps crossing the hall.
Laurence rose and passed the back of his hand once or twice across hiseyes: "And to think," he murmured dully, "that brutes such as that areallowed to live. Has God turned the light of His countenance quite awayfrom us?" He remained standing for a while gazing out blankly beforehim, and with trembling fingers he traced intricate patterns upon thetable-top. Then with a heavy sigh he bade father and brother"good-night" and quietly went out of the room.
"Mark!" said the High-Bailiff quickly, "keep an eye on that hot-headedyoung ruffian. In his present state of mind there's no knowing what hemight do."
Whereupon Mark, in his usual good-tempered, indolent way also bade hisfather good-night, and followed his brother out of the room.
III
The scene which met don Ramon's eyes when he entered the tavern of the"Three Weavers"--which was situate, be it remembered, almost oppositethe house of the High-Bailiff of Ghent--was, alas! not an unusual onethese days.
For five years now--ever since the arrival of the Duke of Alva in theLow Countries as Lieutenant-Governor and Captain-General of theForces--the Netherlander had protested with all the strength and theinsistence at their command against the quartering of Spanish troopsupon the inhabitants of their free cities. The practice was a flagrantviolation of all the promises made to them by the King himself, and anoutrage against their charters and liberties which the King had sworn torespect. But it also was a form of petty tyranny which commended itselfspecially to Alva, and to the Spanish ministers and councillors of Statewho liked above all to humiliate these Dutch and Flemish free men andcow them into complete submission and silent acquiescence by every meanswhich their cruel and tortuous minds could invent.
Don Ramon knew quite well that he could offer no greater insult to theHigh-Bailiff of Ghent and to his sons--or, for the matter of that, tothe whole city--than to allow his soldiery to behave in a scandalous andribald manner in one of the well-accredited and well-conducted tavernsof the town. And to him this knowledge gave but additional zest to whatotherwise would have been a tame adventure--two women to bully and eightmen to do it was not nearly as exciting as he could wish. But that foolLaurence van Rycke had to be punished--and incidentally don Ramon hopedthat Mark would feel that the punishment was meted out to him more thanto his brother.
On the whole don Ramon de Linea felt, as he entered the tap-room of the"Three Weavers," that the presence of the two van Ryckes was all that heneeded to make his enjoyment complete.
That the Spanish provost and the six men under his command were alreadydrunk there was no doubt: some of them were sitting at a long trestletable, sprawling across it, lolling up against one another, some singingscraps of bibulous songs, others throwing coarse, obscene jests acrossthe table. Two men seemed to be on guard at the door, whilst one andall were clamouring for more wine.
"Curse you, you..." the provost was shouting at the top of his voicewhen don Ramon entered the tap-room, "why don't you bring another bottleof wine?"
Two women were standing at the further end of the long low room, closeto the hearth: they stood hand in hand as if in an endeavour toinculcate moral strength to one another. The eldest of the two womenmight have been twenty-five years of age, the other some few yearsyounger: their white faces and round, dilated eyes showed the deathlyfear which held them both in its grip. Obviously the girls would havefled out of the tap-room long before this, and equally obviously the twomen had been posted at the door in order to cut off their retreat.
At sight of their captain, the men staggered to their feet; the provostpassed the word of command, fearful lest the ribald attitude of his menbrought severe censure--and worse--upon himself. He stood up, assteadily, as uprightly as he could; but don Ramon took little notice ofhim; he called peremptorily to the two girls--who more frightened thanever now, still clung desperately to one another.
"Here, wench!" he said roughly, "I want wine, the best you have, and aprivate room in which to sit."
"At your service, senor!" murmured the elder of the two girls almostinaudibly.
"What's your name?" he asked.
"Katrine, so please your Magnificence."
"And yours?"
"Grete, at your service, Magnificence," whispered the girls one afterthe other, clinging one to the other, like two miserable atoms ofhumanity tossed about by the hard hand of Fate.
"At my service then, and quickly too," retorted don Ramon curtly, "godown into the cellar, Katrine, and get me a fresh bottle of Rhinewine--the best your heretical father hath left behind. And you, Grete,show me to another room, and when presently I order you to kiss me, seethat you do not do it with such a sour mouth, or by Our Lady I'llremember that your father must hang on the morrow, and that you arenothing better than a pair of heretics too. Now then," he addedharshly, "must I repeat the order?"
He had undone the buckle of his sword-belt, and was carrying hissheathed sword in his hand: he found it a splendid weapon for strikingfurther terror into the hearts of the two girls, whose shrieks of painand fear caused great hilarity amongst the soldiers. Don Ramon feltthat if only Mark van Rycke could have been there, all the wounds whichthat young malapert had dared to inflict upon the pride of a Spanishgrandee would forthwith be healed. Indeed, don Ramon enjoyed everyincident of this exhilarating spectacle; for instance, when buxomKatrine had at last toddled down the steps into the cellar, the soldiersclosed the trap-door upon her; whereupon the provost, who had becomevery hilarious, shouted lustily:
"What ho! what are you louts doing there? His Magnificence will bewanting the wine which he has ordered. If you lock the cellarer into hercellar, she'll come out presently as drunk as a Spanish lord."
"All right, provost," retorted one of the men, "we'll let her outpresently. His Magnificence won't have to wait for long. But we canlevy a toll on her--do you understand?--whenever the wench is ready tocome out of prison."
"Oh! I understand!" quoth the provost with a laugh.
And don Ramon laughed too. He was enjoying himself even more than hehad hoped. He saw the other girl--Grete--turn almost grey with terror,and he felt that he was punishing Mark van Rycke for every insolent wordwhich he had uttered at the Town Hall and Laurence for every threateninggesture. He gave Grete a sharp prodding with the hilt of his sword:
"Now then, you Flemish slut," he said harshly, "show me to your bestparlour, and don't stand there gaping."
Perforce she had to show him the way out of the public _tapperij_ to theprivate room reserved for noble guests.
"Send one of your men to fetch the wench away in about half an hour,provost," called don Ramon loudly over his shoulder, "I shall have gottired of her by then."
Loud laughter greeted this sally and a general clapping of mugs againstthe table. Grete more dead than alive nearly fell over the threshold.
IV
The private room was on the opposite side of the narrow tiled hall andwas dimly lighted by a small iron lamp that hung from a beam of theceiling above. The door was half open and Grete pushed it open stillfurther and then stood aside to allow the senor captain to pass.
"Will your Magnificence be pleased to walk in," she whispered.
Great tears were in her eyes; don Ramon paused under the lintel of thedoor, and with a rough gesture pinched her che
ek and ear.
"Not ugly for a Flemish heifer," he said with a laugh. "Come along,girl! Let's see if your heretical father hath taught you how to pay duerespect to your superiors."
"My humblest respect I do offer your Magnificence," said Grete, who wasbravely trying to suppress her tears.
"Come! that's better," he retorted, as he pushed the girl into the roomand swaggered in behind her, closing the door after him. "Now, Grete,"he added, as he threw himself into a chair and stretched his legs outbefore him, "come and sit on my knee, and if I like the way you kiss me,why, my girl, there's no knowing what I might not do to please you.Come here, Grete!" he reiterated more peremptorily, for the girl hadretreated to a dark corner of the room and was cowering there just likea frightened dog.
"Come here, Grete," he called loudly for the third time. But Grete wasmuch too frightened to move.
With a savage oath don Ramon jumped to his feet, and kicked the chair onwhich he had been sitting so that it flew with a loud clatter half wayacross the room. Grete fell on her knees.
"Good Lord deliver me!" she murmured.
Don Ramon seized her by her two hands that were clasped together inprayer, he dragged her up from her knees, and toward the table whichstood in the centre of the small, square room. Then he let her fallbackwards against the table, and laughed because she continued to prayto God to help her.
"As if God would take any notice of heretics and rebels andNetherlanders generally," he said with a sneer. "Stand up, girl, and goback to my men. I have had enough of you already. Ye gods! what a vilecrowd these Netherlanders are! Go back into the tap-room, do you hear,girl? and see that you and your ugly sister entertain my men as youshould. For if you don't, and I hear of any psalm-singing or simperingnonsense I'll hand you over to the Inquisition as avowed hereticsto-morrow."
But truly Grete was by now almost paralysed with fear; she was no braveheroine of romance who could stand up before a tyrant and browbeat himby the very force of her character and personality, she was but a merewreckage of humanity whom any rough hand could send hopelessly adriftupon the sea of life. Her one refuge was her tears, her only armour ofdefence her own utter helplessness.
But this helplessness which would appeal to the most elementary sense ofchivalry, had not the power to stir a single kind instinct in don Ramonde Linea. It must be admitted that it would not have appealed to asingle Spaniard these days. They were all bred in the one school whichtaught them from infancy an utter contempt for this subject race and adeadly hatred against the heretics and rebels of the Low Countries.They were taught to look upon these people as little better than cattle,without any truth, honesty or loyalty in them, as being false andtreacherous, murderous and dishonest. Don Ramon, who at this moment wasbehaving as scurrilously as any man, not absolutely born in the gutter,could possibly do, was only following the traditions of his race, of hiscountry and its tyrannical government.
Therefore when Grete wept he laughed, when she murmured the littleprayers which her father had taught her, he felt nothing but irritationand unmeasured contempt. He tried to silence the girl by loud shouts andperemptory commands, when these were of no avail he threatened, to callfor assistance from his sergeant. Still the girl made no attempt eitherto move or to stem the flood of tears. Then don Ramon called aloud:"Hallo there, sergeant!" and receiving no answer, he went to the door,in order to reiterate his call from there.
V
His hand was on the latch, when the door was suddenly opened fromwithout; so violently that don Ramon was nearly thrown off his balance,and would probably have measured his length on the floor, but that hefell up against the table and remained there, leaning against it withone hand in order to steady himself, and turning a wrathful glance onthe intruder.
"By the Mass!" he said peremptorily, "who is this malapert who..."
But the words died on his lips; the look of wrath in his eyes gave wayto one of sudden terror. He stared straight out before him at thesombre figure which had just crossed the threshold. It was the tallfigure of a man dressed in dark tightly-fitting clothes, wearing highboots to the top of his thighs, a hood over his head and a mask ofuntanned leather on his face. He was unarmed.
Don Ramon, already a prey to that superstitious fear of the unknown andof the mysterious which characterised even the boldest of his countryand of his race, felt all his arrogance giving way in the presence ofthis extraordinary apparition, which by the dim and flickering light ofthe lamp appeared to him to be preternaturally tall and strangelymenacing in its grim attitude of silence. Thus a moment or two went by.The stranger now turned and carefully closed and locked the door behindhim. Key in hand he went up to the girl--Grete--who, no less terrifiedthan her tormentor, was cowering in a corner of the room.
"Where is Katrine," he asked quickly; then, as the girl almost paralysedby fear seemed quite unable to speak, he added more peremptorily:
"Pull yourself together, wench; your life and Katrine's depend on yourcourage now. Where is she?"
"In ... in ... the cellar ... I think," stammered Grete almost inaudiblyand making a brave effort to conquer her terror.
"Can you reach her without crossing the tap-room?"
The girl nodded.
"Well, then, run to her at once. Don't stop to collect any of yourbelongings, except what money you have; then go ... go at once.... Haveyou a friend or relative in this city to whom you could go at this latehour?"
Again the girl nodded, and looked up more boldly this time: "My father'ssister..." she whispered.
"Where does she live?"
"At the sign of the 'Merry Beggars' in Dendermonde."
"Then go to her at once--you and Katrine. You will be safe there forawhile. If any further danger threatens you or your kinsfolk, you shallbe advised ... in that case you would have to leave the country."
"I shouldn't be afraid," murmured the girl.
"That's good!" he concluded. "Come, Grete!"
He turned back to the door, unlocked it, and let the girl slip out ofthe room. Then he relocked the door.
VI
While this brief colloquy had been going on, don Ramon was making greatefforts to recover his scattered wits and to steady his overstrungnerves. The superstitious fear which had gripped him by the throat,yielded at first to another equally terrifying thought: the hood andmask suggested an emissary of the Inquisition, one of those silent,nameless beings who seemed to have the power of omnipresence, who glidedthrough closed doors and barred windows, appeared suddenly in tavern,church or street corner, and were invariably the precursors of arrest,torture-chamber and death. No man or woman--however high-born, howeverhighly placed, however influential or however poor and humble, wasimmune from the watchful eye of the Inquisition; a thoughtless word, acareless jest--or the mere denunciation of an enemy--and the accusationof treason, heresy or rebellion was trumped up and gibbet or fireclaimed yet another victim. Don Ramon--a Spanish grandee--could not ofcourse be denounced as a heretic, but he knew that the eyes of de Vargaswere upon him, that he might he thought importune or in the way now thatother projects had been formed for donna Lenora--and he also knew thatde Vargas would as ruthlessly sweep him out of the way as he would atroublesome fly.
Thus fear of real, concrete danger had succeeded that of thesupernatural; but now that the stranger moved and spoke kindly withGrete--the daughter of an heretic--it was evident that he was no spy ofthe Inquisition: he was either an avowed enemy who chose this theatricalmanner of accomplishing a petty vengeance, or in actual fact thatextraordinary creature who professed to be the special protector of thePrince of Orange and whom popular superstition among the soldiery hadnicknamed Leatherface.
The latter was by far the most likely, and as the stranger whoever hewas, was unarmed, don Ramon felt that he had no longer any cause forfear. Though his sword--in its scabbard--was lying on the table, hisdagger was in his belt. With a quick movement he unshea
thed it, and atthe precise moment when the masked man had his back to him in order torelock the door, don Ramon--dagger in hand--made a swift and sudden dashfor him. But the stranger had felt rather than seen or heard the dangerwhich threatened him. As quick as any feline creature he turned on hisassailant and gripped his upraised hand by the wrist with such avice-like grip that don Ramon uttered a cry of rage and pain: hisfingers opened out nervelessly and the dagger fell with a clatter to theground.
Then the two men closed with one another. It was a fight, each for theother's throat--a savage, primitive fight--man against man--with noweapon save sinewy hands, hatred and the primeval instinct to kill. Themasked man was by far the more powerful and the more cool. Within avery few moments he had don Ramon down on his knees, his own stronghands gripping the other's throat. The Spaniard felt that he wasdoomed: he--of that race which was sending thousands of innocent anddefenceless creatures to a hideous death--he, who had so often and somercilessly lent a hand to outrage, to pillage and to murder, who but afew moments ago was condemning two helpless girls to insults and outrageworse than death, was in his turn a defenceless atom in the hands of ajusticiary. The breath was being squeezed out of his body, his limbsfelt inert and stiff, his mind became clouded over as by a crimson mist.He tried to call for help, but the cry died in his throat. And throughthe mist which gradually obscured his vision he could still see thesilhouette of that closely-hooded head and a pair of eyes shining downon him through the holes of the leather mask.
Leatherface: A Tale of Old Flanders Page 9
