CHAPTER X
ADRIAN GOES OUT HAWKING
In a house down a back street not very far from the Leyden prison, a manand a woman sat at breakfast on the morning following the burning of theHeer Jansen and his fellow martyr. These also we have met before, forthey were none other than the estimable Black Meg and her companion,named the Butcher. Time, which had left them both strong and active, hadnot, it must be admitted, improved their personal appearance. Black Meg,indeed, was much as she had always been, except that her hair was nowgrey and her features, which seemed to be covered with yellow parchment,had become sharp and haglike, though her dark eyes still burned withtheir ancient fire. The man, Hague Simon, or the Butcher, scoundrel bynature and spy and thief by trade, one of the evil spawn of an age ofviolence and cruelty, boasted a face and form that became his reputationwell. His countenance was villainous, very fat and flabby, with small,pig-like eyes, and framed, as it were, in a fringe of sandy-colouredwhiskers, running from the throat to the temple, where they faded awayinto a great expanse of utterly bald head. The figure beneath was heavy,pot-haunched, and supported upon a pair of bowed but sturdy legs.
But if they were no longer young, and such good looks as theyever possessed had vanished, the years had brought them certaincompensations. Indeed, it was a period in which spies and all suchwretches flourished, since, besides other pickings, by special enactmenta good proportion of the realized estates of heretics was paid over tothe informers as blood-money. Of course, however, humble tools likethe Butcher and his wife did not get the largest joints of the hereticsheep, for whenever one was slaughtered, there were always many honestmiddlemen of various degree to be satisfied, from the judge down to theexecutioner, with others who never showed their faces.
Still, when the burnings and torturings were brisk, the amount totalledup very handsomely. Thus, as the pair sat at their meal this morning,they were engaged in figuring out what they might expect to receivefrom the estate of the late Heer Jansen, or at least Black Meg was soemployed with the help of a deal board and a bit of chalk. At last sheannounced the result, which was satisfactory. Simon held up his fathands in admiration.
"Clever little dove," he said, "you ought to have been a lawyer's wifewith your head for figures. Ah! it grows near, it grows near."
"What grows near, you fool?" asked Meg in her deep mannish voice.
"That farm with an inn attached of which I dream, standing in richpasture land with a little wood behind it, and in the wood a church. Nottoo large; no, I am not ambitious; let us say a hundred acres, enoughto keep thirty or forty cows, which you would milk while I marketed thebutter and the cheeses----"
"And slit the throats of the guests," interpolated Meg.
Simon looked shocked. "No, wife, you misjudge me. It is a roughworld, and we must take queer cuts to fortune, but once I get there,respectability for me and a seat in the village church, provided, ofcourse, that it is orthodox. I know that you come of the people,and your instincts are of the people, but I can never forget that mygrandfather was a gentleman," and Simon puffed himself out and looked atthe ceiling.
"Indeed," sneered Meg, "and what was your grandmother, or, for thematter of that, how do you know who was your grandfather? Country house!The old Red Mill, where you hide goods out there in the swamp, is likelyto be your only country house. Village church? Village gallows morelikely. No, don't you look nasty at me, for I won't stand it, you dirtylittle liar. I have done things, I know; but I wouldn't have got my ownaunt burned for an Anabaptist, which she wasn't, in order to earn twentyflorins, so there."
Simon turned purple with rage; that aunt story was one which touched himon the raw. "Ugly----" he began.
Instantly Meg's hand shot out and grasped the neck of a bottle, whereonhe changed his tune.
"The sex, the sex!" he murmured, turning aside to mop his bald head witha napkin; "well, it's only their pretty way, they will have their littlejoke. Hullo, there is someone knocking at the door."
"And mind how you open it," said Meg, becoming alert. "Remember we haveplenty of enemies, and a pike blade comes through a small crack."
"Can you live with the wise and remain a greenhorn? Trust me." Andplacing his arm about his spouse's waist, Simon stood on tiptoe andkissed her gently on the cheek in token of reconciliation, for Meg had anasty memory in quarrels. Then he skipped away towards the door as fastas his bandy legs would carry him.
The colloquy there was long and for the most part carried on throughthe keyhole, but in the end their visitor was admitted, a beetle-browedbrute of much the same stamp as his host.
"You are nice ones," he said sulkily, "to be so suspicious about an oldfriend, especially when he comes on a job."
"Don't be angry, dear Hans," interrupted Simon in a pleading voice. "Youknow how many bad characters are abroad in these rough times; why,for aught we could tell, you might have been one of these desperateLutherans, who stick at nothing. But about the business?"
"Lutherans, indeed," snarled Hans; "well, if they are wise they'd stickat your fat stomach; but it is a Lutheran job that I have come from TheHague to talk about."
"Ah!" said Meg, "who sent you?"
"A Spaniard named Ramiro, who has recently turned up there, a humorousdog connected with the Inquisition, who seems to know everybody and whomnobody knows. However, his money is right enough, and no doubt he hasauthority behind him. He says that you are old friends of his."
"Ramiro? Ramiro?" repeated Meg reflectively, "that means Oarsman,doesn't it, and sounds like an alias? Well, I've lots of acquaintancesin the galleys, and he may be one of them. What does he want, and whatare the terms?"
Hans leant forward and whispered for a long while. The other twolistened in silence, only nodding from time to time.
"It doesn't seem much for the job," said Simon when Hans had finished.
"Well, friend, it is easy and safe; a fat merchant and his wife and ayoung girl. Mind you, there is no killing to be done if we can help it,and if we can't help it the Holy Office will shield us. Also it is onlythe letter which he thinks that the young woman may carry that the nobleRamiro wants. Doubtless it has to do with the sacred affairs of theChurch. Any valuables about them we may keep as a perquisite over andabove the pay."
Simon hesitated, but Meg announced with decision,
"It is good enough; these merchant woman generally have jewels hidden intheir stays."
"My dear," interrupted Simon.
"Don't 'my dear' me," said Meg fiercely. "I have made up my mind, sothere's an end. We meet by the Boshhuysen at five o'clock at the big oakin the copse, where we will settle the details."
After this Simon said no more, for he had this virtue, so useful indomestic life--he knew when to yield.
Lysbeth, a Tale of the Dutch Page 22
