Lysbeth, a Tale of the Dutch

by H. Rider Haggard

  The service was over, and below in the emptied market-place theexecutioners collected the poor calcined fragments of the martyrs tocast them with contumely and filthy jests into the darkling waters ofthe river. Now, one by one and two by two, the worshippers slipped awaythrough some hidden door opening on an alley. Let us look at three oftheir number as they crept through bye streets back to a house on theBree Straat with which we are acquainted, two of them walking in frontand one behind.

  The pair were Dirk van Goorl and his son Foy--there was no mistakingtheir relationship. Save that he had grown somewhat portly andthoughtful, Dirk was the Dirk of five and twenty years ago, thickset,grey-eyed, bearded, a handsome man according to the Dutch standard,whose massive, kindly countenance betrayed the massive, kindly mindwithin. Very like him was his son Foy, only his eyes were blue insteadof grey, and his hair was yellow. Though they seemed sad enough justnow, these were merry and pleasant eyes, and the round, the somewhatchildlike face was merry also, the face of a person who looked upon thebright side of things.

  There was nothing remarkable or distinguished about Foy's appearance,but from it the observer, who met him for the first time, received animpression of energy, honesty, and good-nature. In truth, such wereapt to set him down as a sailor-man, who had just returned from a longjourney, in the course of which he had come to the conclusion that thisworld was a pleasant place, and one well worth exploring. As Foy walkeddown the street with his quick and nautical gait, it was evident thateven the solemn and dreadful scene which he had just experienced had notaltogether quenched his cheery and hopeful spirit. Yet of all those wholistened to the exhortation of the saint-like Arentz, none had laid itsburden of faith and carelessness for the future to heart more entirelythan Foy van Goorl.

  But of this power of looking on the bright side of things the creditmust be given to his nature and not to his piety, for Foy could not besad for long. _Dum spiro, spero_ would have been his motto had he knownLatin, and he did not mean to grow sorrowful--over the prospect of beingburnt, for instance--until he found himself fast to the stake. It wasthis quality of good spirits in a depressing and melancholy age thatmade of Foy so extraordinarily popular a character.

  Behind these two followed a much more remarkable-looking personage, theFrisian, Martin Roos, or Red Martin, so named from his hair, which wasred to the verge of flame colour, and his beard of a like hue that hungalmost to his breast. There was no other such beard in Leyden; indeedthe boys, taking advantage of his good nature, would call to him as hepassed, asking him if it was true that the storks nested in it everyspring. This strange-looking man, who was now perhaps a person of fortyyears of age, for ten years or more had been the faithful servant ofDirk van Goorl, whose house he had entered under circumstances whichshall be told of in their place.

  Any one glancing at Martin casually would not have said that he wasa giant, and yet his height was considerable; to be accurate, when hestood upright, something over six feet three inches. The reason why hedid not appear to be tall was that in truth his great bulk shortened himto the eye, and also because his carried himself ill, more from a desireto conceal his size than for any other reason. It was in girth ofchest and limb that Martin was really remarkable, so much so that ashort-armed man standing before him could not make his fingers touchbehind his back. His face was fair as a girl's, and almost as flat as afull moon, for of nose he had little. Nature, indeed, had furnished himwith one of ordinary, if not excessive size, but certain incidents inMartin's early career, which in our day would be designated as that ofa prize-fighter, had caused it to spread about his countenance inan interesting and curious fashion. His eyebrows, however, remainedprominent. Beneath them appeared a pair of very large, round, and rathermild blue eyes, covered with thick white lids absolutely devoid oflashes, which eyes had a most unholy trick of occasionally taking firewhen their owner was irritated. Then they could burn and blaze likelamps tied to a barge on a dark night, with an effect that was all themore alarming because the rest of his countenance remained absolutelyimpassive.

  Suddenly while this little company went homewards a sound arose in thequiet street as of people running. Instantly all three of them pressedthemselves into the doorway of a house and crouched down. Martin liftedhis ear and listened.

  "Three people," he whispered; "a woman who flies and two men whofollow."

  At that moment a casement was thrown open forty paces or so away, and ahand, bearing a torch, thrust out of it. By its light they saw thepale face of a lady speeding towards them, and after her two Spanishsoldiers.

  "The Vrouw Andreas Jansen," whispered Martin again, "flying from two ofthe guard who burned her husband."

  The torch was withdrawn and the casement shut with a snap. In thosedays quiet burghers could not afford to be mixed up in street troubles,especially if soldiers had to do with them. Once more the place wasempty and quiet, except for the sound of running feet.

  Opposite to the doorway the lady was overtaken. "Oh! let me go,"she sobbed, "oh! let me go. Is it not enough that you have killed myhusband? Why must I be hunted from my house thus?"

  "Because you are so pretty, my dear," answered one of the brutes, "alsoyou are rich. Catch hold of her, friend. Lord! how she kicks!"

  Foy made a motion as though to start out of the doorway, but Martinpressed him back with the flat of his hand, without apparent effort, andyet so strongly that the young man could not move.

  "My business, masters," he muttered; "you would make a noise," and theyheard his breath come thick.

  Now, moving with curious stealthiness for one of so great a bulk, Martinwas out of the porch. By the summer starlight the watchers could seethat, before they had caught sight of, or even heard, him, he grippedthe two soldiers, small men, like most Spaniards, by the napes of theirnecks, one in either hand, and was grinding their faces together. This,indeed, was evident, for his great shoulders worked visibly and theirbreastplates clicked as they touched. But the men themselves made nosound at all. Then Martin seemed to catch them round the middle, andbehold! in another second the pair of them had gone headlong into thecanal, which ran down the centre of the street.

  "My God! he has killed them," muttered Dirk.

  "And a good job, too, father," said Foy, "only I wish that I had sharedin it."

  Martin's great form loomed in the doorway. "The Vrouw Jansen has fledaway," he said, "and the street is quite quiet now, so I think that wehad better be moving before any see us, my masters."

  Some days later the bodies of these Spanish soldiers were found withtheir faces smashed flat. It was suggested in explanation of thisplight, that they had got drunk and while fighting together had fallenfrom the bridge on to the stonework of a pier. This version of their endfound a ready acceptance, as it consorted well with the reputations ofthe men. So there was no search or inquiry.

  "I had to finish the dogs," Martin explained apologetically--"may theLord Jesus forgive me--because I was afraid that they might know meagain by my beard."

  "Alas! alas!" groaned Dirk, "what times are these. Say nothing of thisdreadful matter to your mother, son, or to Adrian either." But Foynudged Martin in the ribs and muttered, "Well done, old fellow, welldone!"

  After this experience, which the reader must remember was nothingextraordinary in those dark and dreadful days when neither the lives ofmen nor the safety of women--especially Protestant men and women--werethings of much account, the three of them reached home without furtherincident, and quite unobserved. Arriving at the house, they entered itnear the Watergate by a back door that led into the stableyard. It wasopened by a woman whom they followed into a little room where a lightburned. Here she turned and kissed two of them, Dirk first and then Foy.

  "Thank God that I see you safe," she said. "Whenever you go to theMeeting-place I tremble until I hear your footsteps at the door."

  "What's the use of that, mother?" said Foy. "Your fretting yourselfwon't make things better or worse."

  "Ah! dear, how can I help it?" she rep
lied softly; "we cannot all beyoung and cheerful, you know."

  "True, wife, true," broke in Dirk, "though I wish we could; we should belighter-hearted so," and he looked at her and sighed.

  Lysbeth van Goorl could no longer boast the beauty which was hers whenfirst we met her, but she was still a sweet and graceful woman, herfigure remaining almost as slim as it had been in girlhood. The greyeyes also retained their depth and fire, only the face was worn, thoughmore by care and the burden of memories than with years. The lot of theloving wife and mother was hard indeed when Philip the King ruled inSpain and Alva was his prophet in the Netherlands.

  "Is it done?" she asked.

  "Yes, wife, our brethren are now saints in Paradise, therefore rejoice."

  "It is very wrong," she answered with a sob, "but I cannot. Oh!" sheadded with a sudden blaze of indignation, "if He is just and good, whydoes God suffer His servants to be killed thus?"

  "Perhaps our grandchildren will be able to answer that question,"replied Dirk.

  "That poor Vrouw Jansen," broke in Lysbeth, "just married, and so youngand pretty. I wonder what will become of her."

  Dirk and Foy looked at each other, and Martin, who was hovering aboutnear the door, slunk back guiltily into the passage as though _he_ hadattempted to injure the Vrouw Jansen.

  "To-morrow we will look to it, wife. And now let us eat, for we arefaint with hunger."

  Ten minutes later they were seated at their meal. The reader mayremember the room; it was that wherein Montalvo, ex-count and captain,made the speech which charmed all hearers on the night when he had lostthe race at the ice-carnival. The same chandelier hung above them, someportion of the same plate, even, repurchased by Dirk, was on the table,but how different were the company and the feast! Aunt Clara, thefatuous, was long dead, and with her many of the companions of thatoccasion, some naturally, some by the hand of the executioner, whileothers had fled the land. Pieter van de Werff still lived, however, andthough regarded with suspicion by the authorities, was a man of weightand honour in the town, but to-night he was not present there. The food,too, if ample was plain, not on account of the poverty of the household,for Dirk had prospered in his worldly affairs, being hard-working andskilful, and the head of the brass foundry to which in those early dayshe was apprenticed, but because in such times people thought littleof the refinements of eating. When life itself is so doubtful, itspleasures and amusements become of small importance. The ample waitingservice of the maid Greta, who long ago had vanished none knew where,and her fellow domestics was now carried on by the man, Martin, andone old woman, since, as every menial might be a spy, even the richestemployed few of them. In short all the lighter and more cheerful partsof life were in abeyance.

  "Where is Adrian?" asked Dirk.

  "I do not know," answered Lysbeth. "I thought that perhaps----"

  "No," replied her husband hastily; "he did not accompany us; he rarelydoes."

  "Brother Adrian likes to look underneath the spoon before he licks it,"said Foy with his mouth full.

  The remark was enigmatic, but his parents seemed to understand whatFoy meant; at least it was followed by an uncomfortable and acquiescentsilence. Just then Adrian came in, and as we have not seen him since,some four and twenty years ago, he made his entry into the world on thesecret island in the Haarlemer Meer, here it may be as well to describehis appearance.

  He was a handsome young man, but of quite a different stamp from hishalf-brother, Foy, being tall, slight, and very graceful in figure;advantages which he had inherited from his mother Lysbeth. Incountenance, however, he differed from her so much that none would haveguessed him to be her son. Indeed, Adrian's face was pure Spanish, therewas nothing of a Netherlander about his dark beauty. Spanish were theeyes of velvet black, set rather close together, Spanish also the finelychiselled features and the thin, spreading nostrils, Spanish the cold,yet somewhat sensual mouth, more apt to sneer than smile; the straight,black hair, the clear, olive skin, and that indifferent, half-weariedmien which became its wearer well enough, but in a man of his years ofNorthern blood would have seemed unnatural or affected.

  He took his seat without speaking, nor did the others speak to him tillhis stepfather Dirk said:

  "You were not at the works to-day, Adrian, although we should have beenglad of your help in founding the culverin."

  "No, father"--he called him father--answered the young man in a measuredand rather melodious voice. "You see we don't quite know who is going topay for that piece. Or at any rate I don't quite know, as nobody seemsto take me into confidence, and if it should chance to be the losingside, well, it might be enough to hang me."

  Dirk flushed up, but made no answer, only Foy remarked:

  "That's right, Adrian, look after your own skin."

  "Just now I find it more interesting," went on Adrian loftily anddisregardful of his brother, "to study those whom the cannon may shootthan to make the cannon which is to shoot them."

  "Hope you won't be one of them," interrupted Foy again.

  "Where have you been this evening, son?" asked Lysbeth hastily, fearinga quarrel.

  "I have been mixing with the people, mother, at the scene on themarket-place yonder."

  "Not the martyrdom of our good friend, Jansen, surely?"

  "Yes, mother, why not? It is terrible, it is a crime, no doubt, butthe observer of life should study these things. There is nothing morefascinating to the philosopher than the play of human passions. Theemotions of the brutal crowd, the stolid indifference of the guard, thegrief of the sympathisers, the stoical endurance of the victims animatedby religious exaltation----"

  "And the beautiful logic of the philosopher, with his nose in the air,while he watches his friend and brother in the Faith being slowly burntto death," broke out Foy with passion.

  "Hush! hush!" said Dirk, striking his fist upon the table with a blowthat caused the glasses to ring, "this is no subject for word-chopping.Adrian, you would have been better with us than down below at thatbutchery, even though you were less safe," he added, with meaning."But I wish to run none into danger, and you are of an age to judge foryourself. I beg you, however, to spare us your light talk about scenesthat we think dreadful, however interesting you may have found them."

  Adrian shrugged his shoulders and called to Martin to bring him somemore meat. As the great man approached him he spread out his fine-drawnnostrils and sniffed.

  "You smell, Martin," he said, "and no wonder. Look, there is blood uponyour jerkin. Have you been killing pigs and forgotten to change it?"

  Martin's round blue eyes flashed, then went pale and dead again.

  "Yes, master," he answered, in his thick voice, "I have been killingpigs. But your dress also smells of blood and fire; perhaps you went toonear the stake." At that moment, to put an end to the conversation, Dirkrose and said grace. Then he went out of the room accompanied by hiswife and Foy, leaving Adrian to finish his meal alone, which he didreflectively and at leisure.

  When he left the eating chamber Foy followed Martin across the courtyardto the walled-in stables, and up a ladder to the room where the servingman slept. It was a queer place, and filled with an extraordinarycollection of odds and ends; the skins of birds, otters, and wolves;weapons of different makes, notably a very large two-handed sword, plainand old-fashioned, but of excellent steel; bits of harness and otherthings.

  There was no bed in this room for the reason that Martin disdained abed, a few skins upon the floor being all that he needed to lie on.Nor did he ask for much covering, since so hardy was he by nature, thatexcept in the very bitterest weather his woollen vest was enough forhim. Indeed, he had been known to sleep out in it when the frost was sosharp that he rose with his hair and beard covered with icicles.

  Martin shut the door and lit three lanterns, which he hung to hooks uponthe wall.

  "Are you ready for a turn, master?" he asked.

  Foy nodded as he answered, "I want to get the taste of it all out ofmy mouth, so don't spare me.
Lay on till I get angry, it will make meforget," and taking a leathern jerkin off a peg he pulled it over hishead.

  "Forget what, master?"

  "Oh! the prayings and the burnings and Vrouw Jansen, and Adrian'ssea-lawyer sort of talk."

  "Ah, yes, that's the worst of them all for us," and the big man leaptforward and whispered. "Keep an eye on him, Master Foy."

  "What do you mean?" asked Foy sharply and flushing.

  "What I say."

  "You forget; you are talking of my brother, my own mother's son. Iwill hear no harm of Adrian; his ways are different to ours, but he isgood-hearted at bottom. Do you understand me, Martin?"

  "But not your father's son, master. It's the sire sets the strain; Ihave bred horses, and I know."

  Foy looked at him and hesitated.

  "No," said Martin, answering the question in his eyes. "I have nothingagainst him, but he always sees the other side, and that's bad. Also heis Spanish----"

  "And you don't like Spaniards," broke in Foy. "Martin, you are apig-headed, prejudiced, unjust jackass."

  Martin smiled. "No, master, I don't like Spaniards, nor will you beforeyou have done with them. But then it is only fair as they don't likeme."

  "I say, Martin," said Foy, following a new line of thought, "how did youmanage that business so quietly, and why didn't you let me do my share?"

  "Because you'd have made a noise, master, and we didn't want the watchon us; also, being fulled armed, they might have bettered you."

  "Good reasons, Martin. How did you do it? I couldn't see much."

  "It is a trick I learned up there in Friesland. Some of the Northmensailors taught it me. There is a place in a man's neck, here at theback, and if he is squeezed there he loses his senses in a second. Thus,master--" and putting out his great hand he gripped Foy's neck in afashion that caused him the intensest agony.

  "Drop it," said Foy, kicking at his shins.

  "I didn't squeeze; I was only showing you," answered Martin, opening hiseyes. "Well, when their wits were gone of course it was easy to knocktheir heads together, so that they mightn't find them again. You see,"he added, "if I had left them alive--well, they are dead anyway, andgetting a hot supper by now, I expect. Which shall it be, master? Dutchstick or Spanish point?"

  "Stick first, then point," answered Foy.

  "Good. We need 'em both nowadays," and Martin reached down a pair of ashplants fitted into old sword hilts to protect the hands of the players.

  They stood up to each other on guard, and then against the light ofthe lanterns it could be seen how huge a man was Martin. Foy, althoughwell-built and sturdy, and like all his race of a stout habit, lookedbut a child beside the bulk of this great fellow. As for their stickgame, which was in fact sword exercise, it is unnecessary to follow itsdetails, for the end of it was what might almost have been expected. Foysprang to and fro slashing and cutting, while Martin the solid scarcelymoved his weapon. Then suddenly there would be a parry and a reach,and the stick would fall with a thud all down the length of Foy's back,causing the dust to start from his leathern jerkin.

  "It's no good," said Foy at last, rubbing himself ruefully. "What'sthe use of guarding against you, you great brute, when you simply crashthrough my guard and hit me all the same? That isn't science."

  "No, master," answered Martin, "but it is business. If we had been usingswords you would have been in pieces by now. No blame to you and nocredit to me; my reach is longer and my arm heavier, that is all."

  "At any rate I am beaten," said Foy; "now take the rapiers and give me achance."

  Then they went at it with the thrusting-swords, rendered harmless by adisc of lead upon their points, and at this game the luck turned. Foywas active as a cat in the eye of a hawk, and twice he managed to get inunder Martin's guard.

  "You're dead, old fellow," he said at the second thrust.

  "Yes, young master," answered Martin, "but remember that I killed youlong ago, so that you are only a ghost and of no account. Although Ihave tried to learn its use to please you, I don't mean to fight witha toasting fork. This is my weapon," and, seizing the great sword whichstood in the corner, he made it hiss through the air.

  Foy took it from his hand and looked at it. It was a long straightblade with a plain iron guard, or cage, for the hands, and on it, in oldletters, was engraved one Latin word, _Silentium_, "Silence."

  "Why is it called 'Silence,' Martin?"

  "Because it makes people silent, I suppose, master."

  "What is its history, and how did you come by it?" asked Foy in amalicious voice. He knew that the subject was a sore one with the hugeFrisian.

  Martin turned red as his own beard and looked uncomfortable. "Ibelieve," he answered, staring upwards, "that it was the ancient Swordof Justice of a little place up in Friesland. As to how I came by it,well, I forget."

  "And you call yourself a good Christian," said Foy reproachfully. "NowI have heard that your head was going to be chopped off with this sword,but that somehow you managed to steal it first and got away."

  "There was something of the sort," mumbled Martin, "but it is so longago that it slips my mind. I was so often in broils and drunk in thosedays--may the dear Lord forgive me--that I can't quite remember things.And now, by your leave, I want to go to sleep."

  "You old liar," said Foy shaking his head at him, "you killed that poorexecutioner and made off with his sword. You know you did, and now youare ashamed to own the truth."

  "May be, may be," answered Martin vacuously; "so many things happenin the world that a fool man cannot remember them all. I want to go tosleep."

  "Martin," said Foy, sitting down upon a stool and dragging off hisleather jerkin, "what used you to do before you turned holy? You havenever told me all the story. Come now, speak up. I won't tell Adrian."

  "Nothing worth mentioning, Master Foy."

  "Out with it, Martin."

  "Well, if you wish to know, I am the son of a Friesland boor."

  "--And an Englishwoman from Yarmouth: I know all that."

  "Yes," repeated Martin, "an Englishwoman from Yarmouth. She was verystrong, my mother; she could hold up a cart on her shoulders while myfather greased the wheels, that is for a bet; otherwise she used to makemy father hold the cart up while _she_ greased the wheels. Folk wouldcome to see her do the trick. When I grew up I held the cart and theyboth greased the wheels. But at last they died of the plague, the pairof them, God rest their souls! So I inherited the farm----"

  "And--" said Foy, fixing him with his eye.

  "And," jerked out Martin in an unwilling fashion, "fell into badhabits."

  "Drink?" suggested the merciless Foy.

  Martin sighed and hung his great head. He had a tender conscience.

  "Then you took to prize-fighting," went on his tormentor; "you can'tdeny it; look at your nose."

  "I did, master, for the Lord hadn't touched my heart in those days,and," he added, brisking up, "it wasn't such a bad trade, for nobodyever beat me except a Brussels man once when I was drunk. He broke mynose, but afterwards, when I was sober--" and he stopped.

  "You killed the Spanish boxer here in Leyden," said Foy sternly.

  "Yes," echoed Martin, "I killed him sure enough, but--oh! it was apretty fight, and he brought it on himself. He was a fine man, thatSpaniard, but the devil wouldn't play fair, so I just had to kill him. Ihope that they bear in mind up above that I _had_ to kill him."

  "Tell me about it, Martin, for I was at The Hague at the time, andcan't remember. Of course I don't approve of such things"--and the youngrascal clasped his hands and looked pious--"but as it is all done with,one may as well hear the story of the fight. To spin it won't make youmore wicked than you are."

  Then suddenly Martin the unreminiscent developed a marvellous memory,and with much wealth of detail set out the exact circumstances of thathistoric encounter.

  "And after he had kicked me in the stomach," he ended, "which, master,you will know he had no right to do, I lost my temper and hit o
ut withall my strength, having first feinted and knocked up his guard with myleft arm----"

  "And then," said Foy, growing excited, for Martin really told the storyvery well, "what happened?"

  "Oh, his head went back between his shoulders, and when they picked himup, his neck was broken. I was sorry, but I couldn't help it, the Lordknows I couldn't help it; he shouldn't have called me 'a dirty Frisianox' and kicked me in the stomach."

  "No, that was very wrong of him. But they arrested you, didn't they,Martin?"

  "Yes, for the second time they condemned me to death as a brawler and amanslayer. You see, the other Friesland business came up against me, andthe magistrates here had money on the Spaniard. Then your dear fathersaved me. He was burgomaster of that year, and he paid the death finefor me--a large sum--afterwards, too, he taught me to be sober and thinkof my soul. So you know why Red Martin will serve him and his whilethere is a drop of blood left in his worthless carcase. And now, MasterFoy, I'm going to sleep, and God grant that those dirty Spanish dogsmayn't haunt me."

  "Don't you fear for that, Martin," said Foy as he took his departure,"_absolvo te_ for those Spaniards. Through your strength God smote themwho were not ashamed to rob and insult a poor new widowed woman afterhelping to murder her husband. Yes, Martin, you may enter that on theright side of the ledger--for a change--for they won't haunt you atnight. I'm more afraid lest the business should be traced home to us,but I don't think it likely since the street was quite empty."

  "Quite empty," echoed Martin nodding his head. "Nobody saw me except thetwo soldiers and Vrouw Jansen. They can't tell, and I'm sure that shewon't. Good-night, my young master."