Tears of Leyden

by Baysinger-Ott, Naomi

  We only make it a few steps when behind us I hear the sound of the door to the bedroom crashing open into the wall. Nadeje does not seem jolted by this, but grows more absorbed in our surroundings and gradually increases his speed. I follow longing for shelter and safety from what I know lies behind us. He leads me swiftly down a dark alley where we enter a small square with crossing streets from all sides. He slows to a stop and eyes every corner carefully. Slowly, he begins forward, me following closely.

  There is a sound far behind and I feel my stomach churn for us to get off the streets, and yet I know we cannot expect safety in other people’s homes either. The cool air chills me as we cross the path and something bolts past the street. My grip tenses on Nadeje’s hand in dread, but soon I make out the figure in the dark. I try to calm myself as I recognize it is only a stray animal. Relieved I take a shaky breath which rattles in my chest and let my hand hang in Nadeje’s once more.

  The relief soon ends.

  There is the clamor of footsteps on the streets around us and without further warning, figures enter from two of the road ways, leaving only two to run through. Nadeje remains, not running but waiting while I am unconvinced of his action’s best outcome. Soon though, I am proved wrong. Men stride through the other two egresses leaving us no escape route. Their dress surprises me, as they are in everyday clothes, but their ethnicity is truly what gets me. They are Dutch. For some reason, despite them being my people, the same ringing bellows inside me as when the Spanish soldiers had crowded my home. I ready myself for them to rush upon us, but they do nothing of the sort, they only guard their entrances.

  Swiftly, I am grabbed and I turn into him, blinking to make sure it is Nadeje as I am pulled close. I close my eyes and don’t feel anything but him, just for a second. The sound of footsteps and danger outside of our world is background to me as his breaths blow out and off into the air, but he seems to hear them vividly. He cloaks me close, hiding and binding me against him out of defense. It is silent a few moments, until there is the fall of boots coming through one of the egresses.

  Nadeje remains calm, unbroken by this clap to the ears. He lifts his head away from me and turns it in the direction of the sound. I feel his hands tighten on their hold, and I can hardly breathe. I listen, too scared to do anything more.

  “Well, what have we found here?” The voice is smooth and low, but sounds pitiless and harsh despite its quieter speech. It gives no questioning disposition.

  Nadeje draws me into him as though this made him wary of his already tight hold. I know he is strong, both mentally and physically, but my trust makes me worry that his hold might become separation. It makes me afraid of that voice.

  “Sir Flanen, join me,” I hear footsteps into the square which stop accordingly. “A Dutch and a Spaniard…a Dutch child and a Spanish man.”

  I feel my pulse harden and quicken at his murmur. I know I am yet to be nineteen, in less than a few weeks, but the ideal age for me to become a woman is out of marriage. Zenith and I had been engaged. He was supposed to bring this about for me. Consequently I cannot defend my maturity as otherwise.

  “Deranging.”

  I feel him watching us and feel like I am being opened up and picked at by his gaze. It is like his eyes are scanning through me, close to reaching the deepest most antiquity in my heart.

  “I suppose I was warned,” the man says it as though speaking to himself. “I suspect you feel the same?”

  “Revolting,” Flanen agrees. His voice sounds younger than his commander, close to my age, twenty maybe.

  “Good,” his voice lurks through the shadows of the square. “Spaniard?” The cold address is cautioning. “Greetings,” it is low and unmistakably dark. “I was instructed in the certain areas of…protection of Ms. Thimlet,” there are a few moments of silence and he begins again. “I was charged by my master to be her sole provider and tutor…and if her old mindset is what is in the way of her understanding her place in the activity of her bloodline, I was directed to bid her departure of it.”

  I feel my heart beat faster at this, though Nadeje does not move.

  “To ensure my success, I was permitted to remove all obstacles which block Ms. Thimlet from her own heritage,” his voice is firm and malicious. “Including all living barriers.”

  Nadeje does not respond. I force myself not to burrow further.

  The man waits a few more seconds, giving Nadeje time to process his words.

  Nadeje already has. He does not move from me.

  “I propose that you shift from being one of my present barriers.”

  Nadeje shows no inclination to move from me. His gentle fingers dig in with promise.

  The quiet in the air is not peaceful. The man now sounds nothing but dark. “Segregation is significant to nature and our existence. The safest path for us souls to follow is in this cycle, and the circuit perhaps has patience only for those who pursue it.”

  I cautiously tilt my head and peek up at Nadeje. The fierceness of his expression and the forewarning glare into the darkness is so unlike him I find myself feeling a little lost. I hesitantly turn my head against him, following his fixed gaze and setting my eyes off into the night.

  There are only two shapes at the opposite side of the square, but I know there are more in the other alleys. The younger one wears a Dutch uniform like the elder, but his posture is somewhat comfortable in his stance. The elder is much more rigid, as is the tone of his voice. His expression is clearly unpleasant in the faint moonlight.

  My stomach turns and heart jumps every other beat it takes. I do not try to oblige to his directions.

  “I most unfortunately have been given the responsibility of staying calm…but my patience are restricted,” he says this knowledgably.

  Even from this distance I can see his emotions grow sterner and jaw tighten.

  “You probably are in this situation of…not understanding me because of your…concerns, perhaps?”

  There is no answer. His tone had not been questioning.

  “Regarding each other,” his tone is unmistakably displeased. “If you oblige Spaniard, I have been demanded to let you free…that is unless opposite response to my directions occur, and then the outcomes will involve forced consequences. Upon our leave, I bid you to take recognition that Ms. Thimlet will be tended to…consistently, and will endure no physical harm.”

  I feel Nadeje’s arms tighten around me.

  “You are stubborn, sir.” His tone is now sourly dark. “It pains me to know that your will is your fate…” There is a pause. “You are not easily persuaded.” Another pause. “My explanations are worthless, but as I was ordered, you were warned.”

  I make out the man beside him shifting a little restlessly.

  “You must move.”

  “No.”

  The response is steady and calm. So is Nadeje against me. It is silent apart from the faint rain drops outside and my hearts pounding. I lightly curl my fingers around his shirt.

  “Separate them,” the sound is quiet but it sharply travels through the space to me.

  Nadeje does not move. My heart skips a beat as I process those words. His men move forward. I bury my face in Nadeje’s shirt and plead with God that Nadeje knows what he is doing. He does not waver at all. All I can think of is that in approximately ten seconds I may be removed from Nadeje’s hold for forever. I brace myself. Nadeje’s arm slowly tightens on my waist. I hardly feel it.

  They close in on us.

  Hands settle along my body, entering my space and immediately beginning to draw me from him. The pull is gentle but has strength, and its gradual take becomes forceful.

  I want to say something, anything, but no words or cries come. One word echoes in my head, but my heart is pounding so hard I am not sure it will make it out of my mouth. I look up to Nadeje and our eyes meet. Nothing but everything in the world is happening. His hold gives and I ache inside. His eyes hold mine with a sworn promise. I trust him.

  I re
sentfully let my hands relax from their grasp. They slip away. I clench my hands as I am tempted to grab hold again, knowing that we are by far outnumbered, and that one wrong move could mean his last. I force my body to remain and not fight it. My heart desperately reminds me of my deepest wishes and I feel the words spill up my throat. I voice his first name to me as I am taken.

  “Gilch.” It is soft and only reaches him, but this is all I wanted.

  Nadeje’s face is tender and I can feel his pain. As much as seeing this hurts, I feel the relief for his grief helps me. He releases me. They take me back as others secure him.

  “Comforting,” the man’s voice is now smooth and reserved.

  This does nothing to calm me.

  “Ms. Thimlet,” his address is firm but moderate.

  I do not respond, too overwhelmed to act on my own.

  “Bring her a distance from our Spaniard if you would.”

  The easy effort to guide me in the direction of the man is frightening.

  “Perhaps now that we are able to be face to face…I may introduce myself, and my reason to enter into your privacy,” his tone is fairly calm, and holds justice. There has been no justice in his actions so far. “I am Sir Marren. I work for a certain gentleman…my friend and Master,” he pauses. “There is more but…I wish to explain the important details…the basics…”

  The rain around me is still a drizzle, the drops lightly sliding down my hair.

  “Your vader…I once was appointed by him after a long friendship…”

  The first two words bite in and I am awake. All other thoughts scatter and I am brought to utter concentration. Vader?

  “He agreed that I should be…I was ordered to take full responsibility of your safety after…during the siege and while he voyaged…”

  My heart is thrashing in my chest. While he what?

  The space is quiet. “Your vader is not dead.”

  The man slowly steps closer as I stare into nothing. The words crash down on me like a thunder storm. It is like one that happens in summer, unaccustomed to in the season and unexpected at the time. It makes me stop and feel the rain nip at my sin with every drop.

  “Lyra,” he says it gently as the reign of it falls hard. “He disappeared in the knowledge that his family was safe but knowing the Spanish would come. He left with the rest of the Aristocracy, not wanting his secrets out to your family, so that you would know of your worth and if anything happened, would be able to remain silent to questions. He left in search for necessary equipment to break the Spanish so that Holland and the Protestants could have freedom. He did not expect the loss of Mrs. Thimlet. His plan was to come home. He did not know that the Spanish would enter so quickly…or that he would need someone to enter Leyden himself…a woman and one he could trust with the secret…” He pauses. “He chose you.”

  The words are simple, but I cannot understand.

  “This is not my only reason to protect you…when your vader left he went home to Holland…I must go further though it may hurt you to know now…Lyra, your bloodline is such that...your worth as a person is…if anyone was to take you hostage it would mean fortunes upon fortunes of…” He stops for a moment and breathes, as if trying to find how to phrase it. “Your vader is of great breeding, meaning that you are of his royalty.”

  I feel my throat tighten. No…my vader was in the Dutch States Administration…he was protecting…

  “Lyra, since birth you have known yourself as what you are the opposite of…and now that you are of age and needed, you must learn your own truth.”

  My heart feels like a hammer in my chest, knocking out my ribcage. This has to be a mistake.

  “You are a descendant of kings…your moeder hadn’t known of his dynasty when they were together through matrimony…and your vader…he kept it away for her own safety. He…I hope not to be too fast, but time is light and I must put this heavily so that you can understand…your vader is a prince, Prince William, Sir William of Orange…The Silent Prince.”

  My whole world crumbles around me as it floods in; the conversation with moeder, how she spoke without knowing him to be my vader…her husband.

  “Ms. Orange, I take you to see him tonight…he will arrive with other battle ships and food for the people. He has everything apart from you, the last of his bloodline, his daughter, his last family here and…relatively his worry during the past few weeks. If it proves anything, the letter you received from him was miscarried for a day…he received notice of your Spanish imprisonment and sent it in haste during a Sunday…causing him to call upon me for my service to him since your birth as your protector.”

  I want to say something, but my mouth is dry and mind wordless.

  “You are our last hope, and after what I have concealed in you, I trust I shall have an easy time preparing you.”

  It is not a question.

  “As for our gentleman…” His tone becomes dark, and I know who he means. “Decisions are hard on his account. He refused to obey my orders, and though she is still standing I have instruction that he is related and connected with the Spanish Armada and was positioned to keep her trapped in house arrest in his own facility. In doing so he has broken law,” there is silence as he pauses.

  I beg God for him to let Nadeje go free…to make him let Nadeje go free.

  “In any circumstances I do not fancy Spanish men, and despite the knowledge that he is secured by my men, he cannot be freed without being treated for his illegal engagements. Penance is certain, for he must be the demonstration to teach our Spanish fleets not to waver the Monarch’s own blood again.”

  My world shatters around me. I try to say words of protest but my head is not fast enough.

  “Punish him.”

  My eyes flash to Nadeje who is still guarded by a few men. My insides quake with terror as one of them draws something from his belt. I grow faint and my head spins. The man’s hand positions itself at Nadeje’s side. I can’t see it. I jerk and nearly fall as the men behind me snatch me back.

  “Do not...hmmm.” Sir Marren seems to have noticed my discomfort and sounds unsure. “Labor…” He murmurs as though contemplating. “In sympathy of Ms. Orange, let us not punish him in this manner before her. He will be useful though, and may perhaps contribute to our plans. He, of course, may be disciplined, and will perform whatever labor is given. There will be further discerning of his future by my master, but for now, we may gift him with this exception, although he may be treated with anything, when away from her presence.”

  The pain worsens yet I am able to release some fear for him, postpone my anticipation for another time, but I know a catch holds to my heart at their possible deception. I feel my pulse beating harshly.

  “He may be let free if he makes it through his confinement as our service.”

  I feel a sense of protection fill me. Even if I had to go with my vader, whoever this man was, I would stay close to Nadeje…or try. If he made it through…I weaken. How could I stop it?

  “Secure him. Let us go, bring Ms. Orange and do not use weaponry on her. Keep him here and don’t let him be seen until I have returned, hide away if we complete it before this happens. Come.”

  I feel the men behind me secure my body and my heart wavers as I realize they have full control over him, over me, and that they were taking me to leave him alone with them. I force down the struggle as they begin to move to the command. I can’t let them. No…Nadeje…he had to of had a plan. They move me. I try to fight it, I lean for Nadeje but their pull is too strong for my shaky effort.

  “Leave him be…” I whisper it, unable to get out more without breaking down.

  I want to scream, to hit, to kick, but I can’t stand the thought that every wrong move made would be weighed on his side of the torment, especially when I am gone from his side. One hauls me forcefully around the waist and Nadeje grows rigid.

  They begin to guide me towards the egress. I am weak as they move me. I am made to turn away from Nadeje and the o
ther men. My chest feels like it is full of thick air, something impossible to breathe yet it sustains me. It aches, and though I wish to relieve it, I know I cannot. We are a fair distance away from the spot when I hear it.

  There is the sound of metal clattering to the floor and a force hitting a hard surface. I feel my throat tighten at the thought of what it had come from. I try not the let it win me, but my body seems adamant. I cannot go on. I freeze. My guards urge me forward, apparently unconcerned by my stop, but I will not move on my own. They force me, but still I listen, begging and imploring it not to be that they have…

  I am jolted to a stop as there is a third sound. I whirl. Nadeje is kneeling on both knees at the men’s feet. I catch the glimmer of metal in the man’s hand and I know what he intends to do. I lose all sanity. I race forward.

  “Nadeje!” My cry fills the square.

  No answer meets it.

  The guards retain me, wakened by my unexpected jerk.

  “Nadeje?” The question sounds amused. “This is what he is called…surely there must be a Mr. addressing? Interesting how you call him such.”

  I grow rigid in my lean. I had said his improper name.

  “Sadly, there is not time for chastisement. We must go. Secure Nadeje as he is called, and try not to kill him.”

  The men obey. They pull him to his feet. They do not, however, sheath their blades.

  I feel the men begin to draw me back. My heart pounds. The men with Nadeje undoubtedly will hurt him. I won’t let him. I wrench forward, losing all logic.

  “Leave him be! Don’t hurt him…please! Let him go, no…Don’t make him pay! No…stop…let him go! Let him go free! Sir Marren, please! He didn’t do anything…NO!” I sob out as hands jerk me back. I fight it. “No! Nadeje! No! Let him go! Let him go please…I’ll do anything…just leave him alone…”

  One alerted soldier catches me to his chest and his hands clasp my mouth, muffling my sound even as I scream. I try to pull away but his arm straps me to him. I wrench at him and reach out between his hold desperate to win, but it is no use. I am taken.