Lysbeth, a Tale of the Dutch

by H. Rider Haggard

  CHAPTER XXIII

  FATHER AND SON

  When Adrian left his mother's house in the Bree Straat he wandered awayat hazard, for so utterly miserable was he that he could form no plansas to what he was to do or whither he should go. Presently he foundhimself at the foot of that great mound which in Leyden is still knownas the Burg, a strange place with a circular wall upon the top of it,said to have been constructed by the Romans. Up this mound he climbed,and throwing himself upon the grass under an oak which grew in one ofthe little recesses of those ancient walls, he buried his face in hishands and tried to think.

  Think! How could he think? Whenever he shut his eyes there arose beforethem a vision of his mother's face, a face so fearful in its awesome andunnatural calm that vaguely he wondered how he, the outcast son, uponwhom it had been turned like the stare of the Medusa's head, witheringhis very soul, could have seen it and still live. Why did he live? Whywas he not dead, he who had a sword at his side? Was it because ofhis innocence? He was not guilty of this dreadful crime. He hadnever intended to hand over Dirk van Goorl and Foy and Martin to theInquisition. He had only talked about them to a man whom he believedto be a professor of judicial astrology, and who said that he couldcompound draughts which would bend the wills of women. Could he helpit if this fellow was really an officer of the Blood Council? Of coursenot. But, oh! why had he talked so much? Oh! why had he signed thatpaper, why did he not let them kill him first? He had signed, andexplain as he would, he could never look an honest man in the faceagain, and less still a woman, if she knew the truth. So he was notstill alive because he was innocent, since for all the good thatthis very doubtful innocence of his was likely to be even to his ownconscience, he might almost as well have been guilty. Nor was he alivebecause he feared to die. He did fear to die horribly, but to the youngand impressionable, at any rate, there are situations in which deathseems the lesser of two evils. That situation had been well-nigh reachedby him last night when he set the hilt of his sword against the floorand shrank back at the prick of its point. To-day it was overpast.

  No, he lived on because before he died he had a hate to satisfy, arevenge to work. He would kill this dog, Ramiro, who had tricked himwith his crystal gazing and his talk of friendship, who had frightenedhim with the threat of death until he became like some poor girl and forfear signed away his honour--oh, Heaven! for very fear, he who pridedhimself upon his noble Spanish blood, the blood of warriors--thistreacherous dog, who, having used him, had not hesitated to betray hisshame to her from whom most of all it should have been hidden, and,for aught he knew, to the others also. Yes if ever he met him--hisown brother--Foy would spit upon him in the street; Foy, who wasso hatefully open and honest, who could not understand into whatdegradation a man's nerves may drag him. And Martin, who had alwaysmistrusted and despised him, why, if he found the chance, he would tearhim limb from limb as a kite tears a partridge. And, worse still, Dirkvan Goorl, the man who had befriended him, who had bred him up althoughhe was no son of his, but the child of some rival, he would sit therein his prison cell, and while his face fell in and his bones grew dailyplainer, till at length his portly presence was as that of a livingskeleton, he would sit there by the window, watching the dishes ofsavoury food pass in and out beneath him, and between the pangs of hislong-drawn, hideous agony, put up his prayer to God to pay back to him,Adrian, all the woe that he had caused.

  Oh! it was too much. Under the crushing weight of his suffering, hissenses left him, and he found such peace as to-day is won by those whoare about to pass beneath the surgeon's knife; the peace that but toooften wakes to a livelier agony.

  When Adrian came to himself again, he felt cold, for already the autumnevening had begun to fall, and there was a feel in the clear, still airas of approaching frost. Also he was hungry (Dirk van Goorl, too, mustbe growing hungry now, he remembered), for he had eaten nothing sincethe yesterday. He would go into the town, get food, and then make up hismind what he should do.

  Accordingly, descending from the Burg, Adrian went to the best innin Leyden, and, seating himself at a table under the trees thatgrew outside of it, bade the waiting-man bring him food and beer.Unconsciously, for he was thinking of other things, in speaking tohim, Adrian had assumed the haughty, Spanish hidalgo manner that wascustomary with him when addressing his inferiors. Even then he noticed,with the indignation of one who dwells upon his dignity, that thisserver made him no bow, but merely called his order to someone in thehouse, and, turning his back upon him, began to speak to a man who wasloitering near. Soon Adrian became aware that he was the subject of thatconversation, for the two of them looked at him out of the corners oftheir eyes, and jerked their thumbs towards him. Moreover, first one,then two, then quite a number of passers-by stopped and joined in theconversation, which appeared to interest them very much. Boys came also,a dozen or more of them, and women of the fish-wife stamp, and all ofthese looked at him out of the corner of _their_ eyes, and from time totime jerked _their_ thumbs towards him. Adrian began to feel uneasy andangered, but, drawing down his bonnet, and folding his arms upon hisbreast, he took no notice. Presently the server thrust his meal andflagon of beer before him with such clattering clumsiness that some ofthe liquor splashed over upon the table.

  "Be more careful and wipe that up," said Adrian.

  "Wipe it yourself," answered the man, rudely turning upon his heel.

  Now Adrian was minded to be gone, but he was hungry and thirsty, sofirst, thought he, he would satisfy himself. Accordingly he lifted thetankard and took a long pull at it, when suddenly something struck thebottom of the vessel, jerking liquor over his face and doublet. He setit down with an oath, and laying his hand upon his sword hilt asked whohad done this. But the mob, which by now numbered fifty or sixty, andwas gathered about him in a triple circle, made no answer. They stoodthere staring sullenly, and in the fading light their faces seemeddangerous and hostile.

  He was frightened. What could they mean? Yes, he was frightened, buthe determined to brave it out, and lifted the cover from his meat, whensomething passed over his shoulder and fell into the dish, somethingstinking and abominable--to be particular, a dead cat. This was toomuch. Adrian sprang to his feet, and asked who dared thus to foul hisfood. The crowd did not jeer, did not even mock; it seemed too much inearnest for gibes, but a voice at the back called out:

  "Take it to Dirk van Goorl. He'll be glad of it soon."

  Now Adrian understood. All these people knew of his infamy; the whole ofLeyden knew that tale. His lips turned dry, and the sweat broke out uponhis body. What should he do? Brave it out? He sat down, and the fiercering of silent faces drew a pace or two nearer. He tried to bid the manto bring more meat, but the words stuck in his throat. Now the mob sawhis fear, and of a sudden seemed to augur his guilt from it, and to passsentence on him in their hearts. At least, they who had been so dumbbroke out into yells and hoots.

  "Traitor!" "Spanish spy!" "Murderer!" they screamed. "Who gave evidenceagainst our Dirk? Who sold his brother to the rack?"

  Then came another shriller note. "Kill him." "Hang him up by the heelsand stone him." "Twist off his tongue," and so forth. Out shot a hand, along, skinny, female hand, and a harsh voice cried, "Give us a keepsake,my pretty boy!" Then there was a sharp wrench at his head, and he knewthat from it a lock of hair was missing. This was too much. He ought tohave stopped there and let them kill him if they would, but a terrorof these human wolves entered his soul and mastered him. To be troddenbeneath those mire-stained feet, to be rent by those filthy hands, to beswung up living by the ankles to some pole and then carved piecemeal--hecould not bear it. He drew his sword and turned to fly.

  "Stop him," yelled the mob, whereon he lunged at them wildly, running asmall boy through the arm.

  The sight of blood and the screech of the wounded lad settled thequestion, and those who were foremost came at him with a spring. ButAdrian was swifter than they, and before a hand could be laid upon him,amidst a shower of stones and filth, he was sp
eeding down the street.After him came the mob, and then began one of the finest man-hunts everknown in Leyden.

  From one street to another, round this turn and round that, sped thequarry, and after him, a swiftly growing pack, came the hounds. Somewomen drew a washing-line across the street to trip him. Adrian jumpedit like a deer. Four men got ahead and tried to cut him off. He dodgedthem. Down the Bree Straat he went, and on his mother's door he saw apaper and guessed what was written there. They were gaining, they weregaining, for always fresh ones took the place of those who grew weary.There was but one chance for him now. Near by ran the Rhine, and hereit was wide and unbridged. Perhaps they would not follow him through thewater. In he went, having no choice, and swam for his life. They threwstones and bits of wood at him, and called for bows but, luckily forhim, by now the night was falling fast, so that soon he vanished fromtheir sight, and heard them crying to each other that he was drowned.

  But Adrian was not drowned, for at that moment he was dragging himselfpainfully through the deep, greasy mud of the opposing bank and hidingamong the old boats and lumber which were piled there, till his breathcame to him again. But he could not stay long, for even if he had notbeen afraid that they would come and find him, it was too cold. So hecrept away into the darkness.