CHAPTER XX
IN THE GEVANGENHUIS
When Adrian left the factory he ran on to the house in the Bree Straat.
"Oh! what has happened?" said his mother as he burst into the room whereshe and Elsa were at work.
"They are coming for him," he gasped. "The soldiers from theGevangenhuis. Where is he? Let him escape quickly--my stepfather."
Lysbeth staggered and fell back into her chair.
"How do you know?" she asked.
At the question Adrian's head swam and his heart stood still. Yet hislips found a lie.
"I overheard it," he said; "the soldiers are attacking Foy and Martin inthe factory, and I heard them say that they were coming here for him."
Elsa moaned aloud, then she turned on him like a tiger, asking:
"If so, why did you not stay to help them?"
"Because," he answered with a touch of his old pomposity, "my first dutywas towards my mother and you."
"He is out of the house," broke in Lysbeth in a low voice that wasdreadful to hear. "He is out of the house, I know not where. Go, son,and search for him. Swift! Be swift!"
So Adrian went forth, not sorry to escape the presence of thesetormented women. Here and there he wandered to one haunt of Dirk's afteranother, but without success, till at length a noise of tumult drew him,and he ran towards the sound. Presently he was round the corner, andthis was what he saw.
Advancing down the wide street leading to the Gevangenhuis came a bodyof Spanish soldiers, and in the centre of them were two figures whomit was easy for Adrian to recognise--Red Martin and his brother Foy.Martin, although his bull-hide jerkin was cut and slashed and his helmethad gone, seemed to be little hurt, for he was still upright and proud,walking along with his arms lashed behind him, while a Spanish officerheld the point of a sword, his own sword Silence, near his throat readyto drive it home should he attempt to escape. With Foy the case wasdifferent. At first Adrian thought that he was dead, for they werecarrying him upon a ladder. Blood fell from his head and legs, whilehis doublet seemed literally to be rent to pieces with sword-cuts anddagger-thrusts; and in truth had it not been for the shirt of mail whichhe wore beneath, he must have been slain several times over. But Foy wasnot dead, for as Adrian watched he saw his head turn upon the ladder andhis hand rise up and fall again.
But this was not all, for behind appeared a cart drawn by a grey horse,and in it were the bodies of Spanish soldiers--how many Adrian could nottell, but there they lay with their harness still on them. After theseagain, in a long and melancholy procession, marched other Spanishsoldiers, some of them sorely wounded, and, like Foy, carried upon doorsor ladders, and others limping forward with the help of their comrades.No wonder that Martin walked proudly to his doom, since behind him camethe rich harvest of the sword Silence. Also, there were other signs tosee and hear, since about the cavalcade surged and roared a great mob ofthe citizens of Leyden.
"Bravo, Martin! Well fought, Foy van Goorl!" they shouted, "We are proudof you! We are proud of you!" Then from the back of the crowd someonecried, "Rescue them!" "Kill the Inquisition dogs!" "Tear the Spaniardsto pieces!"
A stone flew through the air, then another and another, but at a word ofcommand the soldiers faced about and the mob drew back, for they hadno leader. So it went on till they were within a hundred yards of theGevangenhuis.
"Don't let them be murdered," cried the voice. "A rescue! a rescue!" andwith a roar the crowd fell upon the soldiers. It was too late, for theSpaniards, trained to arms, closed up and fought their way through,taking their prisoners with them. But they cost them dear, for thewounded men, and those who supported them, were cut off. They were cutoff, they were struck down. In a minute they were dead, every one ofthem, and although they still held its fortresses and walls, from thathour the Spaniards lost their grip of Leyden, nor did they ever win itback again. From that hour to this Leyden has been free. Such were thefirst fruits of the fight of Foy and Martin against fearful odds.
The great doors of oak and iron of the Gevangenhuis clashed to behindthe prisoners, the locks were shot, and the bars fell home, whileoutside raved the furious crowd.
The place was not large nor very strong, merely a drawbridge across thenarrow arm of a moat, a gateway with a walled courtyard beyond, and overit a three-storied house built in the common Dutch fashion, but withstraight barrel windows. To the right, under the shadow of the archway,which, space being limited, was used as an armoury, and hung withweapons, lay the court-room where prisoners were tried, and to the lefta vaulted place with no window, not unlike a large cellar in appearance.This was the torture-chamber. Beyond was the courtyard, and at the backof it rose the prison. In this yard were waiting the new governor of thejail, Ramiro, and with him a little red-faced, pig-eyed man dressed ina rusty doublet. He was the Inquisitor of the district, especiallyempowered as delegate of the Blood Council and under various edicts andlaws to try and to butcher heretics.
The officer in command of the troops advanced to make his report.
"What is all that noise?" asked the Inquisitor in a frightened, squeakyvoice. "Is this city also in rebellion?"
"And where are the rest of you?" said Ramiro, scanning the thin files.
"Sir," answered the officer saluting, "the rest of us are dead. Somewere killed by this red rogue and his companion, and the mob have theothers."
Then Ramiro began to curse and to swear, as well he might, for he knewthat when this story reached headquarters, his credit with Alva and theBlood Council would be gone.
"Coward!" he yelled, shaking his fist in the face of the officer."Coward to lose a score or more of men in taking a brace of heretics."
"Don't blame me, sir," answered the man sullenly, for the word stirredhis bile, "blame the mob and this red devil's steel, which went throughus as though we were wet clay," and he handed him the sword Silence.
"It fits the man," muttered Montalvo, "for few else could wield such ablade. Go hang it in the doorway, it may be wanted in evidence," but tohimself he thought, "Bad luck again, the luck that follows me whenever Ipit myself against Lysbeth van Hout." Then he gave an order, and the twoprisoners were taken away up some narrow stairs.
At the top of the first flight was a solid door through which theypassed, to find themselves in a large and darksome place. Down thecentre of this place ran a passage. On either side of the passage, dimlylighted by high iron-barred windows, were cages built of massive oakenbars, and measuring each of them eight or ten feet square, very denssuch as might have served for wild beasts, but filled with human beingscharged with offences against the doctrines of the Church. Those whochance to have seen the prison of the Inquisition at The Hague as itstill stands to-day, will know what they were like.
Into one of these dreadful holes they were thrust, Foy, wounded as hewas, being thrown roughly upon a heap of dirty straw in the corner.Then, having bolted and locked the door of their den, the soldiers leftthem.
As soon as his eyes grew accustomed to the light, Martin stared abouthim. The conveniences of the dungeon were not many; indeed, being builtabove the level of the ground, it struck the imagination as even moreterrible than any subterranean vault devoted to the same dreadfulpurpose. By good fortune, however, in one corner of it stood anearthenware basin and a large jug of water.
"I will take the risk of its being poisoned," thought Martin to himself,as lifting the jug he drank deep of it, for what between fighting, fireand fury there seemed to be no moisture left in him. Then, his burningthirst satisfied at last, he went to where Foy lay unconscious and beganto pour water, little by little, into his mouth, which, senseless as hewas, he swallowed mechanically and presently groaned a little. Next,as well as he could, Martin examined his comrade's wounds, to find thatwhat had made him insensible was a cut upon the right side of the head,which, had it not been for his steel-lined cap, must certainly havekilled him, but as it was, beyond the shock and bruise, seemed in no wayserious.
His second hurt was a deep wound i
n the left thigh, but being on theoutside of the limb, although he bled much it had severed no artery.Other injuries he had also upon the forearms and legs, also beneath thechain shirt his body was bruised with the blows of swords and daggers.But none of these were dangerous.
Martin stripped him as tenderly as he might and washed his wounds. Thenhe paused, for both of them were wearing garments of flannel, which isunsuitable for the dressing of hurts.
"You need linen," said a woman's voice, speaking from the next den."Wait awhile and I will give you my smock."
"How can I take your garment, lady, whoever you may be," answeredMartin, "to bind about the limbs of a man even if he is wounded?"
"Take it and welcome," said the unknown in sweet, low tones, "I want itno more; they are going to execute me to-night."
"Execute you to-night?" muttered Martin.
"Yes," replied the voice, "in the court-room or one of the cellars,I believe, as they dare not do it outside because of the people. Bybeheading--am I not fortunate? Only by beheading."
"Oh! God, where art Thou?" groaned Martin.
"Don't be sorry for me," answered the voice, "I am very glad. There werethree of us, my father, my sister, and I, and--you can guess--well, Iwish to join them. Also it is better to die than to go through what Ihave suffered again. But here is the garment. I fear that it is stainedabout the neck, but it will serve if you tear it into strips," and atrembling, delicate hand, which held the linen, was thrust between theoaken bars.
Even in that light, however, Martin saw that the wrist was cut andswollen. He saw it, and because of that tender, merciful hand heregistered an oath about priests and Spaniards, which, as it chanced, helived to keep very thoroughly. Also, he paused awhile wondering whetherif all this was of any good, wondering if it would not be best to letFoy die at once, or even to kill him.
"What are you thinking about, sir?" asked the lady on the other side ofthe bars.
"I am thinking," answered Martin, "that perhaps my young master herewould be better dead, and that I am a fool to stop the bleeding."
"No, no," said the sweet voice, "do your utmost and leave the rest toGod. It pleases God that I should die, which matters little as I am buta weak girl; it may please Him that this young man shall live to be ofservice to his country and his faith. I say, bind up his wounds, goodsir."
"Perhaps you are right," answered Martin. "Who knows, there's a key toevery lock, if only it can be found." Then he set to work upon Foy'swounds, binding them round with strips of the girl's garment dipped inwater, and when he had done the best he could he clothed him again, evento the chain shirt.
"Are you not hurt yourself?" asked the voice presently.
"A little, nothing to speak of; a few cuts and bruises, that's all; thisbull's hide turned their swords."
"Tell me whom you have been fighting," she said.
So, to while away the time while Foy still lay senseless, Martin toldher the story of the attack upon the shot tower, of how they had driventhe Spaniards down the ladder, of how they had drenched them with moltenlead, and of their last stand in the courtyard when they were forcedfrom the burning building.
"Oh! what a fearful fight--two against so many," said the voice with aring of admiration in it.
"Yes," answered Martin, "it was a good fight--the hottest that ever Iwas in. For myself I don't much care, for they've paid a price for mycarcase. I didn't tell you, did I, that the mob set on them as theyhaled us here and pulled four wounded men and those who carried them tobits? Oh! yes, they have paid a price, a very good price for a Frisianboor and a Leyden burgher."
"God pardon their souls," murmured the unknown.
"That's as He likes," said Martin, "and no affair of mine; I had only todo with their bodies and--" At this moment Foy groaned, sat up and askedfor something to drink.
Martin gave him water from the pitcher.
"Where am I?" he asked, and he told him.
"Martin, old fellow," said Foy in an uncertain voice, "we are in a verybad way, but as we have lived through this"--here his characteristichopefulness asserted itself--"I believe, I believe that we shall livethrough the rest."
"Yes, young sir," echoed the thin, faint notes out of the darknessbeyond the bars, "I believe, too, that you will live through the rest,and I am praying that it may be so."
"Who is that?" asked Foy drowsily.
"Another prisoner," answered Martin.
"A prisoner who will soon be free," murmured the voice again through theblackness, for by now night had fallen, and no light came from the holeabove.
Then Foy fell into sleep or stupor, and there was silence for a longwhile, until they heard the bolts and bars of the door of the dungeoncreaking, and the glint of a lantern appeared floating on the gloom.Several men tramped down the narrow gangway, and one of them, unlockingtheir cage, entered, filled the jug of water from a leathern jack, andthrew down some loaves of black bread and pieces of stockfish, as foodis thrown to dogs. Having examined the pair of them he grunted and wentaway, little knowing how near he had been to death, for the heart ofMartin was mad. But he let him go. Then the door of the next cell wasopened, and a man said, "Come out. It is time."
"It is time and I am ready," answered the thin voice. "Good-bye,friends, God be with you."
"Good-bye, lady," answered Martin; "may you soon be with God." Then headded, by an afterthought, "What is your name? I should like to know."
"Mary," she replied, and began to sing a hymn, and so, still singing thehymn, she passed away to her death. They never saw her face, they neverlearned who she might be, this poor girl who was but an item among thecountless victims of perhaps the most hideous tyranny that the worldhas ever known--one of Alva's slaughtered sixty thousand. But many yearsafterwards, when Foy was a rich man in a freer land, he built a churchand named it Mary's kirk.
The long night wore away in silence, broken only by the groans andprayers of prisoners in dens upon the same floor, or with the solemnrhythm of hymns sung by those above, till at length the light, creepingthrough the dungeon lattices, told them that it was morning. At itsfirst ray Martin awoke much refreshed, for even there his health andweariness had brought sleep to him. Foy also awoke, stiff and sore, butin his right mind and very hungry. Then Martin found the loaves and thestockfish, and they filled themselves, washing down the meal with water,after which he dressed Foy's wounds, making a poultice for them out ofthe crumb of the bread, and doctored his own bruises as best he could.
It must have been ten o'clock or later when again the doors were opened,and men appeared who commanded that they should follow them.
"One of us can't walk," said Martin; "still, perhaps I can manage," and,lifting Foy in his arms as though he had been a baby, he passed with thejailers out of the den, down the stair, and into the court-room. Here,seated behind a table, they found Ramiro and the little, squeaky-voiced,red-faced Inquisitor.
"Heaven above us!" said the Inquisitor, "what a great hairy ruffian;it makes me feel nervous to be in the same place with him. I beg you,Governor Ramiro, instruct your soldiers to be watching and to stab himat the first movement."
"Have no fear, noble sir," answered Ramiro, "the villain is quiteunarmed."
"I daresay, I daresay, but let us get on. Now what is the charge againstthese people? Ah! I see, heresy like the last upon the evidence of--oh!well, never mind. Well, we will take that as proved, and, of course, itis enough. But what more? Ah! here it is. Escaped from The Hague withthe goods of a heretic, killed sundry of his Majesty's lieges, blew upothers on the Haarlemer Meer, and yesterday, as we know for ourselves,committed a whole series of murders in resisting lawful arrest.Prisoners, have you anything to say?"
"Plenty," answered Foy.
"Then save your trouble and my time, since nothing can excuse yourgodless, rebellious, and damnable behaviour. Friend Governor, into yourhands I deliver them, and may God have mercy on their souls. See, by theway, that you have a priest at hand to shrive them at last, if they willbe shriven,
just for the sake of charity, but all the other details Ileave to you. Torment? Oh! of course if you think there is anything tobe gained by it, or that it will purify their souls. And now I will begoing on to Haarlem, for I tell you frankly, friend Governor, that Idon't think this town of Leyden safe for an honest officer of the law;there are too many bad characters here, schismatics and resisters ofauthority. What? The warrant not ready? Well, I will sign it in blank.You can fill it in. There. God forgive you, heretics; may your soulsfind peace, which is more, I fear, than your bodies will for the nextfew hours. Bah! friend Governor, I wish that you had not made me assistat the execution of that girl last night, especially as I understand sheleaves no property worth having; her white face haunts my mind, I can'tbe rid of the look of those great eyes. Oh! these heretics, to whatsorrow do they put us orthodox people! Farewell, friend Governor; yes,I think I will go out by the back way, some of those turbulent citizensmight be waiting in front. Farewell, and temper justice with mercy ifyou can," and he was gone.
Presently Ramiro, who had accompanied him to the gate, returned. Seatinghimself on the further side of the table, he drew his rapier and laid itbefore him. Then, having first commanded them to bring a chair in whichFoy might sit, since he could not stand because of his wounded leg, hetold the guard to fall back out of hearing, but to be ready should heneed them.
"Not much dignity about that fellow," he said, addressing Martin andFoy in a cheerful voice; "quite different from the kind of thing youexpected, I daresay. No hooded Dominican priests, no clerks takingnotes, no solemnities, nothing but a little red-faced wretch, perspiringwith terror lest the mob outside should catch him, as for my part Ihope they may. Well, gentlemen, what can you expect, seeing that, to myknowledge, the man is a bankrupt tailor of Antwerp? However, it is thesubstance we have to deal with, not the shadow, and that's real enough,for his signature on a death warrant is as good as that of the Pope, orhis gracious Majesty King Philip, or, for the matter of that, of Alvahimself. Therefore, you are--dead men."
"As you would have been had I not been fool enough to neglect Martin'sadvice out in the Haarlemer Meer and let you escape," answered Foy.
"Precisely, my young friend, but you see my guardian angel was too manyfor you, and you did neglect that excellent counsel. But, as it happens,it is just about the Haarlemer Meer that I want to have a word withyou."
Foy and Martin looked at each other, for now they understood exactlywhy they were there, and Ramiro, watching them out of the corners of hiseyes, went on in a low voice:
"Let us drop this and come to business. You hid it, and you know whereit is, and I am in need of a competence for my old age. Now, I am not acruel man; I wish to put no one to pain or death; moreover, I tell youfrankly, I admire both of you very much. The escape with the treasure onboard of your boat _Swallow_, and the blowing up, were both exceedinglywell managed, with but one mistake which you, young sir, have pointedout," and he bowed and smiled. "The fight that you made yesterday, too,was splendid, and I have entered the details of it in my own privatediary, because they ought not to be forgotten."
Now it was Foy's turn to bow, while even on Martin's grim and impassivecountenance flickered a faint smile.
"Naturally," went on Ramiro, "I wish to save such men, I wish you to gohence quite free and unharmed," and he paused.
"How can we after we have been condemned to death?" asked Foy.
"Well, it does not seem so difficult. My friend, the tailor--I mean theInquisitor--who, for all his soft words, _is_ a cruel man indeed, was ina hurry to be gone, and--he signed a blank warrant, always an incautiousthing to do. Well, a judge can acquit as well as condemn, and thisone--is no exception. What is there to prevent me filling this paper inwith an order for your release?"
"And what is there to show us that you would release us after all?"asked Foy.
"Upon the honour of a gentleman," answered Ramiro laying his hand onhis heart. "Tell me what I want to know, give me a week to make certainnecessary arrangements, and so soon as I am back you shall both of yoube freed."
"Doubtless," said Foy, angrily, "upon such honour as gentlemen learn inthe galleys, Senor Ramiro--I beg your pardon, Count Juan de Montalvo."
Ramiro's face grew crimson to the hair.
"Sir," he said, "were I a different sort of man, for those words youshould die in a fashion from which even the boldest might shrink. Butyou are young and inexperienced, so I will overlook them. Now thisbargaining must come to a head. Which will you have, life and safety, orthe chance--which under the circumstances is no chance at all--that oneday, not you, of course, but somebody interested in it, may recover ahoard of money and jewels?"
Then Martin spoke for the first time, very slowly and respectfully.
"Worshipful sir," he said, "we cannot tell you where the money isbecause we do not know. To be frank with you, nobody ever knew exceptmyself. I took the stuff and sank it in the water in a narrow channelbetween two islands, and I made a little drawing of them on a piece ofpaper."
"Exactly, my good friend, and where is that piece of paper?"
"Alas! sir, when I was lighting the fuses on board the _Swallow_, I letit fall in my haste, and it is--in exactly the same place as are allyour worship's worthy comrades who were on board that ship. I believe,however, that if you will put yourself under my guidance I could showyour Excellency the spot, and this, as I do not want to be killed, Ishould be most happy to do."
"Good, simple man," said Ramiro with a little laugh, "how charming isthe prospect that you paint of a midnight row with you upon those lonelywaters; the tarantula and the butterfly arm in arm! Mynheer van Goorl,what have you to say?"
"Only that the story told by Martin here is true. I do not know wherethe money is, as I was not present at its sinking, and the paper hasbeen lost."
"Indeed? I am afraid, then, that it will be necessary for me to refreshyour memory, but, first, I have one more argument, or rather two. Hasit struck you that another life may hang upon your answer? As a rule menare loth to send their fathers to death."
Foy heard, and terrible as was the hint, yet it came to him as a relief,for he had feared lest he was about to say "your mother" or "ElsaBrant."
"That is my first argument, a good one, I think, but I have--anotherwhich may appeal even more forcibly to a young man and prospective heir.The day before yesterday you became engaged to Elsa Brant--don't looksurprised; people in my position have long ears, and you needn'tbe frightened, the young lady will not be brought here; she is toovaluable."
"Be so good as to speak plainly," said Foy.
"With pleasure. You see this girl is the heiress, is she not? andwhether or no I find out the facts from you, sooner or later, in thisway or that, she will doubtless discover where her heritage is hidden.Well, that fortune a husband would have the advantage of sharing. Imyself labour at present under no matrimonial engagements, and am in aposition to obtain an introduction--ah! my friend, are you beginning tosee that there are more ways of killing a dog than by hanging him?"
Weak and wounded as he was, Foy's heart sank in him at the words of thisman, this devil who had betrayed his mother with a mock marriage, andwho was the father of Adrian. The idea of making the heiress his wifewas one worthy of his evil ingenuity, and why should he not put it intopractice? Elsa, of course, would rebel, but Alva's officials in suchdays had means of overcoming any maidenly reluctance, or at least offorcing women to choose between death and degradation. Was it not commonfor them even to dissolve marriages in order to give heretics to newhusbands who desired their wealth? There was no justice left in theland; human beings were the chattels and slaves of their oppressors. OhGod! what was there to do, except to trust in God? Why should theybe tortured, murdered, married against their wills, for the sake of amiserable pile of pelf? Why not tell the truth and let the fellow takethe money? He had measured up his man, and believed that he could drivea bargain with him. Ramiro wanted money, not lives. He was no fanatic;horrors gave him no pleasure; he cared nothing
about his victims' souls.As he had betrayed his mother, Lysbeth, for cash, so he would be willingto let them all go for cash. Why not make the exchange?
Then distinct, formidable, overwhelming, the answer rose up in Foy'smind. Because he had sworn to his father that nothing which could beimagined should induce him to reveal this secret and betray this trust.And not only to his father, to Hendrik Brant also, who already had givenhis own life to keep his treasure out of the hands of the Spaniards,believing that in some unforeseen way it would advantage his own landand countrymen. No, great as was the temptation, he must keep the letterof his bond and pay its dreadful price. So again Foy answered,
"It is useless to try to bribe me, for I do not know where the moneyis."
"Very well, Heer Foy van Goorl, now we have a plain issue before us,but I will still try to protect you against yourself--the warrant shallremain blank for a little while."
Then he called aloud, "Sergeant, ask the Professor Baptiste to be sogood as to step this way."
Lysbeth, a Tale of the Dutch Page 46
