On the walls of the castle-yard the Duke's proclamation of the Lord'sDay truce was posted up and he himself was giving a few brief orders tohis captains:
"Let the men understand," he said, "that they are free to go to Mass inthe various churches of the city, and that they can do so without theslightest fear. But they must all be back inside the Kasteel precinctsby two hours after noon. Let the couriers go to the gate-houses at thesix Poorts and issue the same orders there, and have the proclamationposted up. Make it known here as well as at the Poorts that if any manfails to respect the truce, if there is any brawling in the streets orin the taverns, I shall proceed with merciless severity against theculprits."
Then he turned to the captain of the castle-guard, don Sancho de Avila:"Yours will be the duty to see that runners are sent out in secret onthe Dendermonde road with orders that any troops which may be on theway, make all possible speed. You had best remain in command here whileI go to Mass: keep your picked guard and the musketeers under arms, for,the moment that the Dendermonde banderas are in sight, we must be readyto co-operate with them by a sortie _en masse_."
"I quite understand, Magnificence," replied the captain.
A few moments later the bridge was lowered and some three thousand menfiled out across it in orderly lines as for parade--but unarmed. TheSpanish halberdiers formed the van and the rear-guard, the Walloonpikemen and archers were massed in the centre, and in the midst of themwalked the Duke of Alva with his immediate cortege: de Vargas who hadhis daughter on his arm and Grete close beside her, don Alberic del Rio,Councillor Hessels and two or three other members of the Council.Behind them came the standard-bearers with standards unfurled and thedrummers.
In silence they reached the lines of the Orangists, which they had tocross in a double file, each man holding up his hands to show that hewas unarmed. The Orangist leaders stood by in a group, and when theDuke and the members of the Council had to file through the lines intheir turn, they stepped forward in order to greet them in amity.
"God guard ye!" they said as the Duke walked by.
"We'll aid Him in that," retorted the Spaniards cynically.
Mark van Rycke was in the forefront of the group at the moment thatLenora went by leaning on her father's arm. She looked up just then andsaw him. He held his head erect as he always did, but she could notfail to see how completely he had changed in those few hours since lastshe saw him at Dendermonde. The hours seemed to have gone over him likeyears: gone was that quaint, gentle, appealing way to which she had sonearly yielded. His attitude now was one of lofty defiance, sublime inits unshakable determination and in its pride. Well! perhaps it wasbetter so! Was he not the embodiment of everything that Lenora had beentaught to hate and despise since her tenderest childhood--the despisedrace that dared to assert itself, the beneficiary who turned on the handthat loaded him with gifts and, above all, the assassin who cowered inthe dark, the slave who struck his master whom he dared not defy? Yes!Mark van Rycke, her husband, the murderer of Ramon, stood for all that,and Lenora despised herself for every tender feeling which had grippedher soul in the past two days whenever she thought of him as wounded,helpless, or mayhap dead.
And yet now when his eyes met hers, they suddenly took on a wonderfulsoftness, that quaint look--half-whimsical, half appealing--came back tothem and with it too a look of infinite pity and of unswerving love; andas she caught the glance--she who felt so lonely and so desolate--therecame to her mind the remembrance of the sweet and pathetic story of theprimeval woman who was driven forth by God's angel from the gates ofParadise. Somehow she felt that once--not so very long ago--she too hadwandered for a brief while within the peaceful glades of a Paradise ofher own, and that now an angel with a flaming sword stood at its gatesand would not allow her to return, but forced her to wander out throughlife in utter loneliness and with the unbearable load of agonisingremorse.
II
Of all the episodes which the historical records of the time present tothe imagination, not one perhaps is quite so moving and so inspiring asthat of the solemn Mass which was offered up in every church of thestricken city on this Sunday morning--the feast of the HolyRedeemer--when the Duke of Alva and the members of his odious BloodCouncil knelt side by side with the heroic men who were making theirlast desperate stand for justice, for liberty and the sanctity of theirhomes.
The Lieutenant-Governor and the Spanish high dignitaries, both civil andmilitary, are present in the Cathedral of St. Baafs, as are also theOrangist leaders. The Spaniards occupy one side of the aisle, theFlemings, with the women and children, are on the other, and crowd everycorner of the stately edifice. Up at the high altar, Father van derSchlicht is officiating with others of the cathedral clergy, and thepure voices of the choir boys resound through the building like the callof the angels of peace.
The fabric of the exquisite building bears traces of that awful fatewhich an abominable tyranny was reserving for the entire city. Thewalls themselves stand, but in places they are torn by large fissures,which look like gaping wounds in the flesh of a giant. Reverend handshave hastily swept aside the debris of glass and masonry, the fragmentsof stone statues and scraps of iron and wood; but here and there thehead of an angel, the clasped hands of a saint or palm of a martyr,still litter the floor; the slender columns of the aisle have taken on acurious rusty tint, and over the screen the apostles of carved wood areblack with smoke.
There are two large holes in the roof, through which the bleak Octoberbreeze comes sighing in, and the sweet smell of stale incense whichusually hangs about the place of worship has yielded to the pungentodour of charred wood and of singed draperies.
On the Flemish side a dull tone of colour prevails, browns and russetsand dull reds--many women have wrapped black hoods over their heads, andlong, black mantles hang from their shoulders; but on the other side thefantastic garb of the Spanish halberdiers throws a note of trenchantyellow right through the sombre tint of the picture: and the white ruffsround the men's necks gleam like pale stars upon the canvas. And overit all the light through the broken window falls crude and grey. Onlythe chancel glows with a warm light, and Father van der Schlicht'svestments of crimson silk, the gilt candlesticks upon the high altar,the flickering yellow flames of the candles, the red cassocks of theyoung servers, all form a kaleidoscope of brilliant colours which isalmost dazzling, whilst up above, the banners and coats-of-arms of theKnights of the Golden Fleece still flaunt their rich heraldic tintsagainst the dark vaulting of the roof, and above the high altar thefigure of the Redeemer with arms stretched out to bless, seems to mockby its exquisite pathos and peace the hideous strifes of men.
The church is crowded from end to end: Flemings and Walloons andSpaniards, the tyrants and the oppressed, all kneel together, whileFather van der Schlicht up at the altar softly murmurs the Confiteor:some have rough linen bandages round their head or arm; some have uglystains upon their doublet or hose; others--unable to stand or lean--liehalf prone upon the ground, supported by their comrades. The Duke ofAlva holds his head erect, and senor de Vargas bows his down until itwell-nigh touches the ground: most of the women are crying, some of themfaint and have to be carried away. The Spaniards are more demonstrativein their devotions than are the Netherlanders, they strike their breastsat the Confiteor, with wide, ostentatious gestures, and need much elbowroom when they make the sign of the Cross.
At the reading of the Gospel every one stands, and men, women andchildren solemnly make profession of that Faith of Love and Goodwillwhich the events of the past two days have so wantonly outraged.
Lenora from where she stands can see her husband's head--with itsclosely-cropped brown hair--towering above the rest of the crowd. Hedoes not look to right or left of him, but gazes fixedly upon the altar;Lenora can see his lips moving as he recites the Creed, and to herstraining senses it seems as if right through the murmurings of allthese people she can distinguish his voice amongst all the others, andthat it s
trikes against her heart with sweet persistence ofunforgettable memories.
And suddenly the high altar with the figure of the Redeemer fades fromher sight; the crowds vanish, the priest disappears, the voices of thechoir boys are stilled. She is back once more in the small _tapperij_of the inn at Dendermonde, sitting beside the hearth with Mark--herhusband--half kneeling, half sitting close to her--she lives again thosefew moments of dreamlike peace and joy when he lulled her with gentlewords and tender glances which had shown her the first glimpse of whathuman happiness might be--and she lives again the moment when she stoodin that same room with his wounded arm in her hand, and realised that hewas the cowardly assassin who had struck Ramon down in the dark.
God in Heaven! was not her hatred of him justified? Even at the foot ofthis altar, where all should be peace and goodwill, had she not theright to hate this one man who had murdered Ramon, who had fooled andcajoled her, and used her as an insentient tool for his own ends, hisown amusement? Her father had told her that she would see him hanged,and that his death would be her work under the guidance of God. Not onemoment of the past would she undo, and she regretted nothing save themoments of weakness which came over her whenever she met his glance. Hewas the leader of these abominable rebels--a leader every inch of him,that she could see--but yet a murderer for all that, and the deadlyenemy of her country and her King.
God had had His will with her, and now He was dealing punishment withequal justice to all; and Lenora standing there, shivering under thecold draught which came on her from the shattered roof, yet inwardlyburning with a fever of regret and of longing, marvelled, if among thethousands that would suffer through God's retributive justice, any onewould endure the martyrdom which she was suffering now.
III
Later on, during the noonday rest, Lenora sat in her room in theMeeste-Toren and tried to visualise once more all that she had livedthrough in the past hour--her meeting with Mark when she went throughthe Orangist lines with her father--the crowded church, the sombrecolours, the pathetic aspect of broken statuary and holy images charredand shattered--the return to the Kasteel in silence--the outline ofMark's profile above the crowd--Mark! always Mark! If only she couldforget!
The air in the narrow room felt stuffy and oppressive: she ordered Greteto open the window. It gave on the same iron balcony to which thecouncil chamber and the apartments of the Duke of Alva had access; butas it was high up in the wall and very small, she could sit quite closebeside it and yet not be seen by any one who might be walking on thebalcony. Lenora's head ached intolerably, and Grete, always kind andanxious, took down the wavy masses of fair hair and brushed them gently,so as to soothe the quivering nerves.
A strange hush hung in the air--the hush of a Sunday afternoon when abig and peaceful city is at rest--a hush in strange and almost weirdcontrast to the din which had shaken up the very atmosphere during thepast two days. Only from the castle-yard down below there comes the sadsound of groans and sighs of pain, and an occasional call for "donnaLenora!" with the cool, soft hands and the gentle voice, the ministeringangel of goodness and consolation.
"Grete," queried Lenora abruptly, "dost love me truly?"
"With my whole heart, noble lady," replied the child simply.
"Then, if thou lovest me, didst pray at Mass this morning for thesuccess of our cause and the confusion of those abominable rebels?"
Grete made no reply, and anon a low, suppressed sob caused Lenora tosay, not unkindly:
"Thy heart is with the rebels, Grete."
"I know most of their leaders, noble lady," murmured the girl, throughher tears. "They are brave, fine men. When I think of those who surelymust die after this, I feel as if my heart must break with sorrow andwith pity."
"Didst know them well?"
"Aye, noble lady. They used to come to the 'Three Weavers.'"
"The 'Three Weavers,' Grete?"
"Aye! my father kept the tavern, here in Ghent.... The noble seigniorsof the city and the Spanish officers of the garrison all used to come tous in the afternoons.... Messire Jan van Migrode, the Chief Sheriff,Messire Lievin van Deynse and the seigneur de Beauvoir, they all cameregularly. And ... and Messire Mark van Rycke," she added under herbreath, "him they call Leatherface."
"My husband, Grete," murmured Lenora.
"I know it, noble lady."
"Didst know then that Messire Mark van Rycke was Leatherface?"
"Not till yesterday, noble lady ... not till the men spoke of it andsaid that the mysterious Leatherface was the leader of the rebels ...and that he was the son of the High-Bailiff of Ghent, Messire Mark vanRycke...."
"Thou didst know him, too, then as Leatherface?"
"Aye, noble lady," said Grete quietly, "he saved my life and mysister's. I would give mine to save him now."
"Saved thy life? How? When?"
"Only a few days ago, noble lady," murmured the child, speaking with agreat effort at self-control. The recollection of that awful nightbrought fresh terror to her heart.
But Lenora's brows contracted now in puzzlement. A few days ago? Markwas courting her then....
"I do not understand," she said impatiently, "a few days ago Leatherface... Messire Mark van Rycke ... was in Ghent ... I was betrothed to himon the seventh day of this month...."
"And 'tis on that night he saved my life ... and Katrine's ... aye! andsaved us from worse than death...."
She paused abruptly; her round, young cheeks lost their last vestige ofcolour, her eyes their clear, childlike look. She cast a quick, furtiveglance on Lenora as if she were, afraid. But Lenora was unconscious ofthis change in the girl's manner, her very senses seemed to be on thealert, hanging upon the peasant girl's lips.... The night of herbetrothal was the night on which Ramon was murdered ... the tavern ofthe "Three Weavers" was the place where he was found. This girl thenknew something of that awesome occurrence, which, despite outsideassurances, had remained vaguely puzzling to Lenora's mind. Now shewould hear and know, and her very heart seemed to stand still as hermind appeared to be waiting upon the threshold of a mystery which wasinterwoven with her whole life, and with her every hope of peace.
"But what?" she queried with agonised impatience. "Speak, girl! Canstnot see that I only live to hear?"
"Our father was taken," said Grete quietly, "he was hanged eight daysago."
"Hanged?" exclaimed Lenora, horror-struck. "Why? What had he done?"
"He was of the Protestant faith ... and..."
Lenora made no comment, and the girl wiped her eyes, which had filledwith tears.
"Thou and Katrine were spared?" asked Lenora, after awhile.
"We were spared at the time," said Grete, "but I suppose," she addedwith quaint philosophy, "we remained objects of suspicion. The soldierswould often be very rough with us, and upon the seventh day of Octoberthe commanding Spanish officer in Ghent..."
Once more she paused timidly, fear of having said too much, fightingwith the childish love to retail her woes, and pour her interestingstory into sympathetic ears.
"Well?" queried Lenora, more impatiently, "go on, child. What did thecommanding Spanish officer in Ghent do to thee on the seventh day ofOctober?"
But at this Grete burst into a flood of tears. The events were sorecent, and the shock of horror and of fear had been so terrible at thetime, that the recollection of it all still had the power to unnerveher. Lenora, whose own nerves were cruelly on the rack at this moment,had much ado to keep her impatience in check. After a few moments Gretebecame more calm, and dried her eyes.
"There was a big to-do at the Town House," she said more quietly, "andthe whole city was gaily decorated. The apprentices had a holiday in theevening. They were very hilarious, and so were the soldiers."
"Well? And--"
"The soldiers came to the 'Three Weavers.' They had been drinkingheavily, and were very rough. The commanding Spanish officer came inlate in the evening.... He encouraged the soldiers t
o drink, and to ...to make fun of us ... of Katrine and of me.... We were all alone in thehouse, and we were very frightened. The Spanish officer ordered Katrineto wait on the soldiers, then he made me go with him to a privateroom...."
The tears were once more very near the surface, and a hot blush of shamefor all that she had had to endure overspread Grete's face and neck.
"Go on, child," queried Lenora. "What happened after that?"
"The Spanish officer was very cruel to me, noble lady. I think he wouldhave killed me, and I am sure the soldiers were very cruel toKatrine.... Oh! it was horrible! horrible!" she cried, "and we werequite alone and helpless...."
"Yes. I know that," said Lenora, and even to herself her own voicesounded curiously dull and toneless; "but tell me what happened."
"I was crouching in a corner of the room, noble lady. My back achedterribly, for I had been thrown across the table, and I thought my spinemust be broken--my wrists, too, were very painful where the nobleofficer had held them so tightly. I was half wild with terror, for Idid not know what would become of me. Then the door opened, and a mancame in. Oh! I was dreadfully frightened. He was very tall and verythin, like a dark wraith, and over his face he had a mask. And he spokekindly to me--and after awhile I was less frightened--and then he toldme just what to do, how to find Katrine, to take some money and run awayto our kinswoman who lives in Dendermonde. I thought then that he was nowraith..." continued Grete in an awestruck whisper, "but just one of thearchangels. For they do appear in curious disguises sometimes ... hesaved my life and Katrine's, and more than life, noble lady," added thegirl with a note of dignity in her tone, which sat quaintly upon hertimid little person, "do you not think that it was God who sent him toprotect two innocent girls from the cruelty of those wicked men?"
Leatherface: A Tale of Old Flanders Page 28