Youth sleeps well whatever may be behind or before it, and it was notuntil Martin had called to him thrice next morning that Foy opened hiseyes in the grey light, and, remembering, sprang from his bed.
"There's no hurry," said Martin, "but it will be as well to get out ofLeyden before many people are about."
As he spoke Lysbeth entered the room fully dressed, for she had notslept that night, carrying in her hand a little leathern bag.
"How is Adrian, mother?" asked Foy, as she stooped down to kiss him.
"He sleeps, and the doctor, who is still with him, says that he doeswell," she answered. "But see here, Foy, you are about to start uponyour first adventure, and this is my present to you--this and myblessing." Then she untied the neck of the bag and poured from itsomething that lay upon the table in a shining heap no larger thanMartin's fist. Foy took hold of the thing and held it up, whereon thelittle heap stretched itself out marvellously, till it was as largeindeed as the body garment of a man.
"Steel shirt!" exclaimed Martin, nodding his head in approval, andadding, "good wear for those who mix with Spaniards."
"Yes," said Lysbeth, "my father brought this from the East on one of hisvoyages. I remember he told me that he paid for it its weight in goldand silver, and that even then it was sold to him only by the specialfavour of the king of that country. The shirt, they said, was ancient,and of such work as cannot now be made. It had been worn from father toson in one family for three hundred years, but no man that wore it everdied by body-cut or thrust, since sword or dagger cannot pierce thatsteel. At least, son, this is the story, and, strangely enough, when Ilost all the rest of my heritage--" and she sighed, "this shirt was leftto me, for it lay in its bag in the old oak chest, and none noticed itor thought it worth the taking. So make the most of it, Foy; it is allthat remains of your grandfather's fortune, since this house is now yourfather's."
Beyond kissing his mother in thanks, Foy made no answer; he was toomuch engaged in examining the wonders of the shirt, which as a worker inmetals he could well appreciate. But Martin said again:
"Better than money, much better than money. God knew that and made themleave the mail."
"I never saw the like of it," broke in Foy; "look, it runs together likequicksilver and is light as leather. See, too, it has stood sword anddagger stroke before to-day," and holding it in a sunbeam they perceivedin many directions faint lines and spots upon the links caused in pastyears by the cutting edge of swords and the points of daggers. Yet nevera one of those links was severed or broken.
"I pray that it may stand them again if your body be inside of it," saidLysbeth. "Yet, son, remember always that there is One who can guard youbetter than any human mail however perfect," and she left the room.
Then Foy drew on the coat over his woollen jersey, and it fitted himwell, though not so well as in after years, when he had grown thicker.Indeed, when his linen shirt and his doublet were over it none couldhave guessed that he was clothed in armour of proof.
"It isn't fair, Martin," he said, "that I should be wrapped in steel andyou in nothing."
Martin smiled. "Do you take me for a fool, master," he said, "who haveseen some fighting in my day, private and public? Look here," and,opening his leathern jerkin, he showed that he was clothed beneath in astrange garment of thick but supple hide.
"Bullskin," said Martin, "tanned as we know how up in Friesland. Not asgood as yours, but will turn most cuts or arrows. I sat up last nightmaking one for you, it was almost finished before, but the steel iscooler and better for those who can afford it. Come, let us go and eat;we should be at the gates at eight when they open."
Lysbeth, a Tale of the Dutch Page 29
