Lysbeth, a Tale of the Dutch

by H. Rider Haggard

  CHAPTER XXI

  HOW MARTIN TURNED COWARD

  The sergeant left the room and presently returned, followed by theProfessor, a tall hang-dog looking rogue, clad in rusty black, withbroad, horny hands, and nails bitten down to the quick.

  "Good morning to you, Professor," said Ramiro. "Here are two subjectsfor your gentle art. You will begin upon the big one, and from time totime report progress, and be sure, if he becomes willing to reveal whatI want to know--never mind what it is, that is my affair--come to summonme at once."

  "What methods does your Excellency wish employed?"

  "Man, I leave that to you. Am I a master of your filthy trade? Anymethod, provided it is effective."

  "I don't like the look of him," grumbled the Professor, gnawing athis short nails. "I have heard about this mad brute; he is capable ofanything."

  "Then take the whole guard with you; one naked wretch can't do muchagainst eight armed men. And, listen; take the young gentleman also, andlet him see what goes on; the experience may modify his views, but don'ttouch him without telling me. I have reports to write, and shall stophere."

  "I don't like the look of him," repeated the Professor. "I say that hemakes me feel cold down the back--he has the evil eye; I'd rather beginwith the young one."

  "Begone and do what I tell you," said Ramiro, glaring at him fiercely."Guard, attend upon the executioner Baptiste."

  "Bring them along," grumbled the Professor.

  "No need for violence, worthy sir," muttered Martin; "show the way andwe follow," and stooping down he lifted Foy from his chair.

  Then the procession started. First went Baptiste and four soldiers, nextcame Martin bearing Foy, and after them four more soldiers. They passedout of the courtroom into the passage beneath the archway. Martin,shuffling along slowly, glanced down it and saw that on the wall, amongsome other weapons, hung his own sword, Silence. The big doors werelocked and barred, but at the wicket by the side of them stood a sentry,whose office it was to let people in and out upon their lawful business.Making pretence to shift Foy in his arms, Martin scanned this wicket asnarrowly as time would allow, and observed that it seemed to be securedby means of iron bolts at the top and the bottom, but that it wasnot locked, since the socket into which the tongue went was empty.Doubtless, while he was on guard there, the porter did not think itnecessary to go to the pains of using the great key that hung at hisgirdle.

  The sergeant in charge of the victims opened a low and massive door,which was almost exactly opposite to that of the court-room, by shootingback a bolt and pushing it ajar. Evidently the place beyond at some timeor other had been used as a prison, which accounted for the bolt onthe outside. A few seconds later and they were locked into thetorture-chamber of the Gevangenhuis, which was nothing more than agood-sized vault like that of a cellar, lit with lamps, for no lightof day was suffered to enter here, and by a horrid little fire thatflickered on the floor. The furnitures of the place may be guessedat; those that are curious about such things can satisfy themselves byexamining the mediaeval prisons at The Hague and elsewhere. Let us passthem over as unfit even for description, although these terrors, ofwhich we scarcely like to speak to-day, were very familiar to the sightof our ancestors of but three centuries ago.

  Martin sat Foy down upon some terrible engine that roughly resembleda chair, and once more let his blue eyes wander about him. Amongst thevarious implements was one leaning against the wall, not very farfrom the door, which excited his especial interest. It was made for adreadful purpose, but Martin reflected only that it seemed to be a stoutbar of iron exactly suited to the breaking of anybody's head.

  "Come," sneered the Professor, "undress that big gentleman while I makeready his little bed."

  So the soldiers stripped Martin, nor did they assault him with sneersand insults, for they remembered the man's deeds of yesterday, andadmired his strength and endurance, and the huge, muscular frame beneaththeir hands.

  "Now he is ready if you are," said the sergeant.

  The Professor rubbed his hands.

  "Come on, my little man," he said.

  Then Martin's nerve gave way, and he began to shiver and to shake.

  "Oho!" laughed the Professor, "even in this stuffy place he is coldwithout his clothes; well we must warm him--we must warm him."

  "Who would have thought that a big fellow, who can fight well, too,was such a coward at heart," said the sergeant of the guard to hiscompanions. "After all, he will give no more play than a Rhine salmon."

  Martin heard the words, and was seized with such an intense access offear that he burst into a sweat all over his body.

  "I can't bear it," he said, covering his eyes--which, however, he didnot shut--with his fingers. "The rack was always my nightmare, and now Isee why. I'll tell all I know."

  "Oh! Martin, Martin," broke out Foy in a kind of wail, "I was doing mybest to keep my own courage; I never dreamt that you would turn coward."

  "Every well has a bottom, master," whined Martin, "and mine is the rack.Forgive me, but I can't abide the sight of it."

  Foy stared at him open-mouthed. Could he believe his ears? And if Martinwas so horribly scared, why did his eye glint in that peculiar waybetween his fingers? He had seen this light in it before, no laterindeed than the last afternoon just as the soldiers tried to rush thestair. He gave up the problem as insoluble, but from that moment hewatched very narrowly.

  "Do you hear what this young lady says, Professor Baptiste?" said thesergeant. "She says" (imitating Martin's whine) "that she'll tell allshe knows."

  "Then the great cur might have saved me this trouble. Stop here withhim. I must go and inform the Governor; those are my orders. No, no,you needn't give him clothes yet--that cloth is enough--one can never besure."

  Then he walked to the door and began to unlock it, as he went strikingMartin in the face with the back of his hand, and saying,

  "Take that, cur." Whereat, as Foy observed, the cowed prisoner perspiredmore profusely than before, and shrank away towards the wall.

  God in Heaven! What had happened? The door of the torture den wasopened, and suddenly, uttering the words, "_To me, Foy!_" Martin madea movement more quick than he could follow. Something flew up and fellwith a fearful thud upon the executioner in the doorway. The guardsprang forward, and a great bar of iron, hurled with awful force intotheir faces, swept two of them broken to the ground. Another instant,and one arm was about his middle, the next they were outside the door,Martin standing straddle-legged over the body of the dead ProfessorBaptiste.

  They were outside the door, but it was not shut, for now, on the otherside of it six men were pushing with all their might and main. Martindropped Foy. "Take his dagger and look out for the porter," he gasped ashe hurled himself against the door.

  In a second Foy had drawn the weapon out of the belt of the dead man,and wheeled round. The porter from the wicket was running on them swordin hand. Foy forgot that he was wounded--for the moment his legseemed sound again. He doubled himself up and sprang at the man likea wild-cat, as one springs who has the rack behind him. There was nofight, yet in that thrust the skill which Martin had taught him sopatiently served him well, for the sword of the Spaniard passed overhis head, whereas Foy's long dagger went through the porter's throat.A glance showed Foy that from him there was nothing more to fear, so heturned.

  "Help if you can," groaned Martin, as well he might, for with his nakedshoulder wedged against one of the cross pieces of the door he wasstriving to press it to so that the bolt could be shot into its socket.

  Heavens! what a struggle was that. Martin's blue eyes seemed to bestarting from his head, his tongue lolled out and the muscles of hisbody rose in great knots. Foy hopped to him and pushed as well as he wasable. It was little that he could do standing upon one leg only, for nowthe sinews of the other had given way again; still that little madethe difference, for let the soldiers on the further side strive as theymight, slowly, very slowly, the thick door quivered to its frame.
Martinglanced at the bolt, for he could not speak, and with his left hand Foyslowly worked it forward. It was stiff with disuse, it caught upon theedge of the socket.

  "Closer," he gasped.

  Martin made an effort so fierce that it was hideous to behold, forbeneath the pressure the blood trickled from his nostrils, but the doorwent in the sixteenth of an inch and the rusty bolt creaked home intoits stone notch.

  Martin stepped back, and for a moment stood swaying like a man about tofall. Then, recovering himself, he leapt at the sword Silence which hungupon the wall and passed its thong over his right wrist. Next he turnedtowards the door of the court-room.

  "Where are you going?" asked Foy.

  "To bid _him_ farewell," hissed Martin.

  "You're mad," said Foy; "let's fly while we can. That door maygive--they are shouting."

  "Perhaps you are right," answered Martin doubtfully. "Come. On to myback with you."

  A few seconds later the two soldiers on guard outside the Gevangenhuiswere amazed to see a huge, red-bearded man, naked save for a loin-cloth,and waving a great bare sword, who carried upon his back another man,rush straight at them with a roar. They never waited his onset; theywere terrified and thought that he was a devil. This way and that theysprang, and the man with his burden passed between them over the littledrawbridge down the street of the city, heading for the Morsch poort.

  Finding their wits again the guards started in pursuit, but a voice fromamong the passers-by cried out:

  "It is Martin, Red Martin, and Foy van Goorl, who escape from theGevangenhuis," and instantly a stone flew towards the soldiers.

  Then, bearing in mind the fate of their comrades on the yesterday, thosemen scuttled back to the friendly shelter of the prison gate. When atlength Ramiro, growing weary of waiting, came out from an inner chamberbeyond the court-room, where he had been writing, to find the Professorand the porter dead in the passage, and the yelling guard locked in hisown torture-chamber, why, then those sentries declared that they hadseen nothing at all of prisoners clothed or naked.

  For a while he believed them, and mighty was the hunt from theclock-tower of the Gevangenhuis down to the lowest stone of its cellars,yes, and even in the waters of the moat. But when the Governor found outthe truth it went very ill with those soldiers, and still worse with theguard from whom Martin had escaped in the torture-room like an eel outof the hand of a fish-wife. For by this time Ramiro's temper was roused,and he began to think that he had done ill to return to Leyden.

  But he had still a card to play. In a certain room in the Gevangenhuissat another victim. Compared to the dreadful dens where Foy and Martinhad been confined this was quite a pleasant chamber upon the firstfloor, being reserved, indeed, for political prisoners of rank, orofficers captured upon the field who were held to ransom. Thus it hada real window, secured, however, by a double set of iron bars, whichoverlooked the little inner courtyard and the gaol kitchen. Also it wasfurnished after a fashion, and was more or less clean. This prisonerwas none other than Dirk van Goorl, who had been neatly captured as hereturned towards his house after making certain arrangements for theflight of his family, and hurried away to the gaol. On that morning Dirkalso had been put upon his trial before the squeaky-voiced and agitatedex-tailor. He also had been condemned to death, the method of hisend, as in the case of Foy and Martin, being left in the hands of theGovernor. Then they led him back to his room, and shot the bolts uponhim there.

  Some hours later a man entered his cell, to the door of which he wasescorted by soldiers, bringing him food and drink. He was one of thecooks and, as it chanced, a talkative fellow.

  "What passes in this prison, friend?" asked Dirk looking up, "that I seepeople running to and fro across the courtyard, and hear trampling andshouts in the passages? Is the Prince of Orange coming, perchance, toset all of us poor prisoners free?" and he smiled sadly.

  "Umph!" grunted the man, "we have prisoners here who set themselvesfree without waiting for any Prince of Orange. Magicians they mustbe--magicians and nothing less."

  Dirk's interest was excited. Putting his hand into his pocket he drewout a gold piece, which he gave to the man.

  "Friend," he said, "you cook my food, do you not, and look after me?Well, I have a few of these about me, and if you prove kind they may aswell find their way into your pocket as into those of your betters. Doyou understand?"

  The man nodded, took the money, and thanked him.

  "Now," went on Dirk, "while you clean the room, tell me about thisescape, for small things amuse those who hear no tidings."

  "Well, Mynheer," answered the man, "this is the tale of it so far as Ican gather. Yesterday they captured two fellows, heretics I suppose, whomade a good fight and did them much damage in a warehouse. I don't knowtheir names, for I am a stranger to this town, but I saw them broughtin; a young fellow, who seemed to be wounded in the leg and neck, anda great red-bearded giant of a man. They were put upon their trial thismorning, and afterwards sent across, the two of them together, witheight men to guard them, to call upon the Professor--you understand?"

  Dirk nodded, for this Professor was well known in Leyden. "And then?" heasked.

  "And then? Why, Mother in Heaven! they came out, that's all--the bigman stripped and carrying the other on his back. Yes, they killed theProfessor with the branding iron, and out they came--like ripe peas froma pod."

  "Impossible!" said Dirk.

  "Very well, perhaps you know better than I do; perhaps it is impossiblealso that they should have pushed the door to, let all those Spanishcocks inside do what they might, and bolted them in; perhaps it isimpossible that they should have spitted the porter and got clean awaythrough the outside guards, the big one still carrying the other uponhis back. Perhaps all these things are impossible, but they're truenevertheless, and if you don't believe me, after they get away from thewhipping-post, just ask the bridge guard why they ran so fast when theysaw that great, naked, blue-eyed fellow come at them roaring like alion, with his big sword flashing above his head. Oh! there's a prettyto-do, I can tell you, a pretty to-do, and in meal or malt we shallall pay the price of it, from the Governor down. Indeed, some backs arepaying it now."

  "But, friend, were they not taken outside the gaol?"

  "Taken? Who was to take them when the rascally mob made them an escortfive hundred strong as they went down the street? No, they are far awayfrom Leyden now, you may swear to that. I must be going, but if thereis anything you'd like while you're here just tell me, and as you are soliberal I'll try and see that you get what you want."

  As the bolts were shot home behind the man Dirk clasped his hands andalmost laughed aloud with joy. So Martin was free and Foy was free,and until they could be taken again the secret of the treasure remainedsafe. Montalvo would never have it, of that he was sure. And as for hisown fate? Well, he cared little about it, especially as the Inquisitorhad decreed that, being a man of so much importance, he was not to beput to the "question." This order, however, was prompted, not by mercy,but by discretion, since the fellow knew that, like other of the Hollandtowns, Leyden was on the verge of open revolt, and feared lest, shouldit leak out that one of the wealthiest and most respected of itsburghers was actually being tormented for his faith's sake, the populacemight step over the boundary line.