Lysbeth, a Tale of the Dutch

by H. Rider Haggard

  When Lysbeth woke again she found herself lying upon the ground, orrather upon a soft mattress of dry reeds and aromatic grasses. Lookinground her she saw that she was in a hut, reed-roofed and plastered withthick mud. In one corner of this hut stood a fireplace with a chimneyartfully built of clay, and on the fire of turfs boiled an earthen pot.Hanging from the roof by a string of twisted grass was a fish, freshcaught, a splendid pike, and near to it a bunch of smoked eels. Over heralso was thrown a magnificent rug of otter skins. Noting these things,she gathered that she must be in the hovel of some fisherman.

  Now by degrees the past came back to Lysbeth, and she remembered herparting with the man who called himself her husband; remembered also hermoonlight flight and how she had waded out into the waters of the greatmere to pluck the white flowers, and how, as they closed above herhead a hand had been stretched out to save her. Lysbeth remembered,and remembering, she sighed aloud. The sound of her sighing seemed toattract the attention of some one who was listening outside the hut; atany rate a rough door was opened or pushed aside and a figure entered.

  "Are you awake, lady?" asked a hoarse voice.

  "Yes," answered Lysbeth, "but tell me, how did I come here, and who areyou?"

  The figure stepped back so that the light from the open door fell fullupon it. "Look, Carolus van Hout's daughter and Juan Montalvo's wife;those who have seen me once do not forget me."

  Lysbeth sat up on the bed and stared at the gaunt, powerful form,the deep-set grey eyes, the wide-spread nostrils, the scarred, highcheek-bones, the teeth made prominent by some devil's work upon thelips, and the grizzled lock of hair that hung across the forehead. In aninstant she knew her.

  "You are Martha the Mare," she said.

  "Yes, I am the Mare, none other, and you are in the Mare's stable. Whathas he been doing to you, that Spanish dog, that you came last night toask the Great Water to hide you and your shame?"

  Lysbeth made no answer; the story seemed hard to begin with this strangewoman. Then Martha went on:

  "What did I tell you, Lysbeth van Hout? Did I not say that your bloodshould warn you against the Spaniards? Well, well, you saved me from theice and I have saved you from the water. Ah! who was it that led me torow round by that outer isle last night because I could not sleep? Butwhat does it matter; God willed it so, and here you lie in the Mare'sstable. Nay, do not answer me, first you must eat."

  Then, going to the pot, she took it from the fire, pouring its contentsinto an earthen basin, and, at the smell of them, for the first timefor days Lysbeth felt hungry. Of what that stew was compounded she neverlearned, but she ate it to the last spoonful and was thankful, whileMartha, seated on the ground beside her, watched her with delight, fromtime to time stretching out a long, thin hand to touch the brown hairthat hung about her shoulders.

  "Come out and look," said Martha when her guest had done eating. And sheled her through the doorway of the hut.

  Lysbeth gazed round her, but in truth there was not much to see. The hutitself was hidden away in a little clump of swamp willows that grew upona mound in the midst of a marshy plain, broken here and there by patchesof reed and bulrushes. Walking across this plain for a hundred yards orso, they came to more reeds, and in them a boat hidden cunningly, forhere was the water of the lake, and, not fifty paces away, what seemedto be the shore of an island. The Mare bade her get into the boat androwed her across to this island, then round it to another, and thence toanother and yet another.

  "Now tell me," she said, "upon which of them is my stable built?"

  Lysbeth shook her head helplessly.

  "You cannot tell, no, nor any living man; I say that no man lives whocould find it, save I myself, who know the path there by night or byday. Look," and she pointed to the vast surface of the mere, "on thisgreat sea are thousands of such islets, and before they find me theSpaniards must search them all, for here upon the lonely waters nospies or hound will help them." Then she began to row again without evenlooking round, and presently they were in the clump of reeds from whichthey had started.

  "I must be going home," faltered Lysbeth.

  "No," answered Martha, "it is too late, you have slept long. Look, thesun is westering fast, this night you must stop with me. Oh! do not beafraid, my fare is rough, but it is sweet and fresh and plenty; fishfrom the mere as much as you will, for who can catch them better than I?And water-fowl that I snare, yes, and their eggs; moreover, dried fleshand bacon which I get from the mainland, for there I have friends whomsometimes I meet at night."

  So Lysbeth yielded, for the great peace of this lake pleased her. Oh!after all that she had gone through it was like heaven to watch the sunsinking towards the quiet water, to hear the wild-fowl call, to see thefish leap and the halcyons flash by, and above all to be sure that bynothing short of a miracle could this divine silence, broken only byNature's voices, be defiled with the sound of the hated accents of theman who had ruined and betrayed her. Yes, she was weary, and a strangeunaccustomed langour crept over her; she would rest there this nightalso.

  So they went back to the hut, and made ready their evening meal, and asshe fried the fish over the fire of peats, verily Lysbeth found herselflaughing like a girl again. Then they ate it with appetite, and afterit was done, Mother Martha prayed aloud; yes, and without fear, althoughshe knew Lysbeth to be a Catholic, read from her one treasure, aTestament, crouching there in the light of the fire and saying:

  "See, lady, what a place this is for a heretic to hide in. Where elsemay a woman read from the Bible and fear no spy or priest?" Rememberinga certain story, Lysbeth shivered at her words.

  "Now," said the Mare, when she had finished reading, "tell me beforeyou sleep, what it was that brought you into the waters of the HaarlemerMeer, and what that Spanish man has done to you. Do not be afraid, forthough I am mad, or so they say, I can keep counsel, and between you andme are many bonds, Carolus van Hout's daughter, some of which you knowand see, and some that you can neither know nor see, but which God willweave in His own season."

  Lysbeth looked at the weird countenance, distorted and made unhuman bylong torment of body and mind, and found in it something to trust; yes,even signs of that sympathy which she so sorely needed. So she told herall the tale from the first word of it to the last.

  The Mare listened in silence, for no story of evil perpetrated by aSpaniard seemed to move or astonish her, only when Lysbeth had done, shesaid:

  "Ah! child, had you but known of me, and where to find me, you shouldhave asked my aid."

  "Why, mother, what could you have done?" answered Lysbeth.

  "Done? I would have followed him by night until I found my chance insome lonely place, and there I would have----" Then she stretched outher bony hand to the red light of the fire, and Lysbeth saw that in itwas a knife.

  She sank back aghast.

  "Why are you frightened, my pretty lady?" asked the Mare. "I tell youthat I live on for only one thing--to kill Spaniards, yes, priests firstand then the others. Oh! I have a long count to pay; for every time thathe was tortured a life, for every groan he uttered at the stake a life;yes, so many for the father and half as many for the son. Well, I shalllive to be old, I know that I shall live to be old, and the count willbe discharged, ay, to the last stiver."

  As she spoke, the outlawed Water Wife had risen, and the flare of thefire struck full upon her. It was an awful face that Lysbeth beheld bythe light of it, full of fierceness and energy, the face of an inspiredavenger, dread and unnatural, yet not altogether repulsive. Indeed, thatcountenance was such as an imaginative artist might give to one of thebeasts in the Book of Revelation. Amazed and terrified, Lysbeth saidnothing.

  "I frighten you, gentle one," went on the Mare, "you who, althoughyou have suffered, are still full of the milk of human kindness. Wait,woman, wait till they have murdered the man you love, till your heart islike my heart, and you also live on, not for love's sake, not for life'ssake, but to be a Sword, a Sword, a Sword in the hand of God!"


  "Cease, I pray you," said Lysbeth in a low voice; "I am faint, I amill."

  Ill she was indeed, and before morning there, in that lonely hovel onthe island of the mere, a son was born to her.