CHAPTER XXIV
THE BIRTH OF HATE
Here the three men parted; Beresteyn and Jan to go to the "Lame Cow"where the latter was to begin his work of keeping track of Diogenes, andStoutenburg to find his way to that squalid lodging house which wassituate at the bottom of the Kleine Hout Straat where it abuts on theOude Gracht.
It had been somewhat impulsively that he had suggested to Beresteyn thathe would endeavour to obtain some information from the Spanish wench asto Diogenes' plans and movements and the whereabouts of Gilda, and nowthat he was alone with more sober thoughts he realised that thesuggestion had not been over-backed by reason. Still as Beresteyn hadsaid: there could be no harm in seeking out the girl. Stoutenburg wasquite satisfied in his mind that she must be the rascal's sweetheart,else she had not lent him an helping hand in the abduction of Gilda, andsince he himself was well supplied with money through the generosity ofhis rich friends in Haarlem, he had no doubt that if the wench knewanything at all about the rogue, she could easily be threatened first,then bribed and cajoled into telling all that she knew.
Luck in this chose to favour the Lord of Stoutenburg, for the girl wason the doorstep when he finally reached the house where two nights ago ayoung soldier of fortune had so generously given up his lodgings to amiserable pair of beggars. He had just been vaguely wondering how besthe could--without endangering his own safety--obtain information as towhich particular warren in the house she and her father inhabited, whenhe saw her standing under the lintel of the door, her meagre figurefaintly lit up by the glimmer of a street-lamp fixed in the wall justabove her head.
"I would have speech with thee," he said in his usual peremptory manneras soon as he had approached her, "show me the way to thy room."
Then as, like a frightened rabbit, she made ready to run away to herburrow as quickly as she could, he seized hold of her arm and reiteratedroughly:
"I would have speech of thee, dost hear? Show me the way to thy room atonce. Thy safety and that of thy father depend on thy obedience. Thereis close search in the city just now for Spanish spies."
The girl's pale cheeks took on a more ashen hue, her lips parted with aquickly smothered cry of terror. She knew--as did every stranger inthese Dutch cities just now--that the words "Spanish spy" had a magicaleffect on the placid tempers of their inhabitants, and that many aharmless foreign wayfarer had suffered imprisonment, aye and torturetoo, on the mere suspicion of being a "Spanish spy."
"I have nothing to fear," she murmured under her breath.
"Perhaps not," he rejoined, "but the man who shelters and protects theeis under suspicion of abetting Spanish spies. For his sake 'twere wiserif thou didst obey me."
Stoutenburg had every reason to congratulate himself on his shrewdguess, for at his words all resistance on the girl's part vanished, andthough she began to tremble in every limb and even for a moment seemedready to swoon, she murmured words which if incoherent certainly soundedsubmissive, and then silently led the way upstairs. He followed herclosely, stumbling behind her in the dark, and as he mounted thericketty steps he was rapidly rehearsing in his mind what he would sayto the wench.
That the girl was that abominable villain's sweetheart he was not for amoment in doubt, her submission just now, at the mere hint of thefellow's danger, showed the depth of her love for him. Stoutenburg felttherefore that his success in obtaining what information he wanted woulddepend only on how much she knew. In any case she must be amenable to abribe for she seemed wretchedly poor; even in that brief glimpse whichhe had had of her by the dim light of the street-door lamp, he could not
help but see how ragged was her kirtle and how pinched and wan her face.
On the landing she paused and taking a key from between the folds of hershift she opened the door of her lodging and humbly begged the graciousmynheer to enter. A tallow candle placed upon a chair threw its feeblelight upon the squalid abode, the white-washed walls, the primitivebedstead in the corner made up of deal planks and covered with apaillasse and a thin blanket. From beneath that same blanket came thegentle and fretful moanings of the old cripple.
But Stoutenburg was far too deeply engrossed in his own affairs to takemuch note of his surroundings; as soon as the girl had closed the doorbehind her, he called her roughly to him and she--frightened andobedient--came forward without a word, standing now before him, withhanging arms and bowed head, whilst a slight shiver shook her girlishform from time to time.
He dragged a chair out to the middle of the room and sat himself astrideupon it, his arms resting across the back, his booted and spurred feetthrust out in front of him, whilst his hollow, purple-rimmed eyes withtheir feverish glow of ever-present inward excitement were fixed uponthe girl.
"I must tell thee, wench," he began abruptly, "that I mean to be thyfriend. No harm shall come to thee if thou wilt answer truthfullycertain questions which I would ask of thee."
Then as she appeared too frightened to reply and only cast a furtive,timorous glance on him, he continued after a slight pause:
"The man who protected thee against the rabble the other night, and whogave thee shelter afterwards, the man in whose bed thy crippled fatherlies at this moment--he is thy sweetheart, is he not?"
"What is that to you?" she retorted sullenly.
"Nothing in itself," he said quietly. "I merely spoke of it to show theehow much I know. Let me tell thee at once that I was in the tavern withhim on New Year's Eve when his boon-companions told the tale of how hehad protected thee against a crowd; and that I was in this very streetnot twenty paces away when in response to thy appeal he gave up his roomand his bed to thee, and for thy sake paced the streets for severalhours in the middle of the night and in weather that must have frozenthe marrow in his bones."
"Well? What of that?" said the girl simply. "He is kind and good, andhath that pity for the poor and homeless which would grace many a noblegentleman."
"No doubt," he retorted dryly, "but a man will not do all that for awench, save in expectation of adequate payment for his trouble anddiscomfort."
"What is that to you?" she reiterated, with the same sullen earnestness.
"Thou art in love with that fine gallant, eh, my girl?" he continuedwith a harsh, flippant laugh, "and art not prepared to own to it. Well!I'll not press thee for a confession. I am quite satisfied with thineevasive answers. Let me but tell thee this; that the man whom thoulovest is in deadly danger of his life."
"Great God, have pity on him!" she exclaimed involuntarily.
"In a spirit of wanton mischief--for he is not so faithful to thee asthou wouldst wish--he has abducted a lady from this city, as thou wellknowest, since thou didst lend him thy help in the committal of thiscrime. Thou seest," he added roughly, "that denials on thy part wereworse than useless, since I know everything. The lady's father is animportant magistrate in this city, he has moved every process of the lawso that he may mete out an exemplary punishment to the blackguard whohas dared to filch his daughter. Hanging will be the most mercifulending to thy lover's life, but Mynheer Beresteyn talks of the rack, ofquartering and of the stake, and he is a man of boundless influence inthe administration of the law."
"Lord, have mercy upon us," once again murmured the wretched girl whosecheeks now looked grey and shrunken; her lips were white and quiveringand her eyes with dilated pupils were fixed in horror on the harbingerof this terrible news.
"He will have none on thy sweetheart, I'll warrant thee unless...."
He paused significantly, measuring the effect of his words and of thatdramatic pause upon the tense sensibilities of the girl.
"Unless ... what?" came almost as a dying murmur from her parchedthroat.
"Unless thou wilt lend a hand to save him."
"I?" she exclaimed pathetically, "I would give my hand ... mytongue ... my sight ... my life to save him."
"Come!" he said, "that's brave! but it will not be necessary to makequite so violent a sacrifice. I have great power too in this city andgreat influence
over the bereaved father," he continued, lyingunblushingly, "I know that if I can restore his daughter to him withinthe next four and twenty hours, I could prevail upon him to give uppursuit of the villain who abducted her, and to let him go free."
But these words were not yet fully out of his mouth, before she hadfallen on her knees before him, clasping her thin hands together andraising up to his hard face large, dark eyes that were brimful of tears.
"Will you do that then, O my gracious lord," she pleaded. "Oh! God willreward you if you will do this."
"How can I, thou crazy wench," he retorted, "how can I restore thedamsel to her sorrowing father when I do not know where she is?"
"But----"
"It is from thee I want to hear where the lady is."
"From me?"
"Why yes! of course! Thou art in the confidence of thy lover, andknowest where he keeps the lady hidden. Tell me where she is, and I willpledge thee my word that thou and he will have nothing more to fear."
"He is not my lover," she murmured dully, "nor am I in his confidence."
She was still on her knees, but had fallen back on her heels, with armshanging limp and helpless by her side. Hope so suddenly arisen hadequally quickly died out of her heart, and her pinched face expressed inevery line the despair and misery which had come in its wake.
"Come!" he cried harshly, "play no tricks with me, wench. Thou didst ownto being the rascal's sweetheart."
"I owned to my love for him," she said simply, "not to his love for me."
"I told thee that he will hang or burn unless thou art willing to helphim."
"And I told thee, gracious sir, that I would give my life for him."
"Which is quite unnecessary. All I want is the knowledge of where hekeeps the lady whom he has outraged."
"I cannot help you, mynheer, in that."
"Thou wilt not!" he cried.
"I cannot," she reiterated gently. "I do not know where she is."
"Will fifty guilders help thy memory?" he sneered.
"Fifty guilders would mean ease and comfort to my father and to me formany months to come. I would do much for fifty guilders but I cannottell that which I do not know."
"An hundred guilders, girl, and the safety of thy lover. Will that nottempt thee?"
"Indeed, indeed, gracious sir," she moaned piteously, "I swear to youthat I do not know."
"Then dost perjure thyself and wilt rue it, wench," he exclaimed as hejumped to his feet, and with a loud curse kicked the chair away fromhim.
The Lord of Stoutenburg was not a man who had been taught to curb histemper; he had always given way to his passions, allowing them as theyears went on to master every tender feeling within him; for years nowhe had sacrificed everything to them, to his ambition, to his revenge,to his loves and hates. Now that this fool of a girl tried to thwart himas he thought, he allowed his fury against her full rein, to theexclusion of reason, of prudence, or ordinary instincts of chivalry. Hestooped over her like a great, gaunt bird of prey and his thin claw-likehand fastened itself on her thin shoulder.
"Thou liest, girl," he said hoarsely, "or art playing with me? Moneythou shalt have. Name thy price. I'll pay thee all that thou wouldstask. I'll not believe that thou dost not know! Think of thy lover undertorture, on the rack, burnt at the stake. Hast ever seen a man after hehas been broken on the wheel? his limbs torn from their sockets, hischest sunken under the weights--and the stake? hast seen a heretic burntalive...?"
She gave a loud scream of agony: her hands went up to her ears, her eyesstared out of her head like those of one in a frenzy of terror.
"Pity! pity! my lord, have pity! I swear that I do not know."
"Verdomme!" he cried out in the madness of his rage as with a crueltwist of his hand he threw the wretched girl off her balance and senther half-fainting, cowering on the floor.
"Verdommt be thou, plepshurk," came in a ringing voice from behind him.
The next moment he felt as if two grapnels made of steel had fastenedthemselves on his shoulders and as if a weight of irresistible power waspressing him down, down on to his knees. His legs shook under him, hisbones seemed literally to be cracking beneath that iron grip, and he hadnot the power to turn round in order to see who his assailant was. Theattack had taken him wholly by surprise and it was only when his kneesfinally gave way under him, and he too was down on the ground, lickingthe dust of the floor--as he had forced the wretched girl to do--that hehad a moment's respite from that cruel pressure and was able to turn inthe direction whence it had come.
Diogenes with those wide shoulders of his squared out to their fullbreadth, legs apart and arms crossed over his mighty chest was standingover him, his eyes aflame and his moustache bristling till it stood outlike the tusks of a boar.
"Dondersteen!" he exclaimed as he watched the other man's long, leanfigure thus sprawling on the ground, "this is a pretty pass to which tobring this highly civilized and cultured country. Men are beginning tobrowbeat and strike the women now! Dondersteen!"
Stoutenburg, whose vocabulary of oaths was at least as comprehensive asthat of any foreign adventurer, had--to its accompaniment--struggled atlast to his feet.
"You ..." he began as soon as he had partially recovered his breath. ButDiogenes putting up his hand hastily interrupted him:
"Do not speak just now, mynheer," he said with his wonted good-humour."Were you to speak now, I feel that your words would not becharacterized by that dignity and courtesy which one would expect fromso noble a gentleman."
"Smeerlap!--" began Stoutenburg once more.
"There now," rejoined the other with imperturbable bonhomie, "what did Itell you? Believe me, sir, 'tis much the best to be silent if pleasantwords fail to reach one's lips."
"A truce on this nonsense," quoth Stoutenburg hotly, "you took meunawares--like a coward...."
"Well said, mynheer! Like a coward--that is just how I took you--in theact of striking a miserable atom of humanity--who is as defenceless as asparrow."
"'Tis ludicrous indeed to see a man of your calling posing as theprotector of women," retorted Stoutenburg with a sneer. "But enough ofthis. You find me unarmed at this moment, else you had already paid forthis impudent interference."
"I thank you, sir," said Diogenes as he swept the Lord of Stoutenburg adeep, ironical bow, "I thank you for thus momentarily withholdingchastisement from my unworthiness. When may I have the honour of callingon your Magnificence in order that you might mete unto me the punishmentwhich I have so amply deserved?"
"That chastisement will lose nothing by waiting, since indeed yourinsolence passes belief," quoth Stoutenburg hotly. "Now go!" he added,choosing not to notice the wilfully impertinent attitude of the otherman, "leave me alone with this wench. My business is with her."
"So is mine, gracious lord," rejoined Diogenes with a bland smile, "elseI were not here. This room is mine--perhaps your Magnificence did notknow that--you would not like surely to remain my guest a moment longerthan you need."
"Of a truth I knew that the baggage was your sweetheart--else I had notcome at all."
"Leave off insulting the girl, man," said Diogenes whose moustachebristled again, a sure sign that his temper was on the boil, "she hastold you the truth, she knows nothing of the whereabouts of the noblelady who has disappeared from Haarlem. An you desire information on thatpoint you had best get it elsewhere."
But Stoutenburg had in the meanwhile succeeded in recovering--at anyrate partially--his presence of mind. All his life he had beenaccustomed to treat these foreign adventurers with the contempt whichthey deserved. In the days of John of Barneveld's high position in theState, his sons would never have dreamed of parleying with the knaves,and if--which God forbid!--one of them had dared then to lay hands onany member of the High Advocate's family, hanging would certainly havebeen the inevitable punishment of such insolence.
Something of that old haughtiness and pride of caste crept into theattitude of the Lord of Stoutenburg now, and prudence also s
uggestedthat he should feign to ignore the rough usage which he had received atthe hands of this contemptible rascal. Though he was by no meansunarmed--for he never went abroad these days without a poniard in hisbelt--he had, of a truth, no mind to engage in a brawl with this youngHercules whose profession was that of arms and who might consequentlyget easily the better of him.
He made every effort therefore to remain calm and to look as dignifiedas his disordered toilet would allow.
"You heard what I said to this girl?" he queried, speaking carelessly.
"You screamed loudly enough," replied Diogenes lightly. "I heard youthrough the closed door. I confess that I listened for quite a longwhile: your conversation greatly interested me. I only interfered when Ithought it necessary."
"So then I need not repeat what I said," quoth the other lightly."Hanging for you, my man, unless you tell me where you have hiddenJongejuffrouw Beresteyn."
"I? What have I to do with that noble lady, pray?"
"It is futile to bandy words with me. I know every circumstance of thedisappearance of the lady, and could denounce you to the authoritieswithin half an hour, and see you hanged for the outrage before sunrise."
"Then I do wonder," said Diogenes suavely, "that your Magnificence dothnot do this, for of a truth you must hate me fairly thoroughly by now."
"Hate you, man? I'd gladly see you hang, or better still broken on thewheel. But I must know from you first where you have hidden thejongejuffrouw."
"If I am to hang anyway, sir, why should I trouble to tell you?"
"The lady is my affianced wife," said Stoutenburg haughtily, "I haveevery right to demand an explanation from you, why you are here when bythe terms of your contract with my friend Nicolaes Beresteyn you shouldat this moment be on your way to Rotterdam, escorting the jongejuffrouwto the house of Ben Isaje, the banker.... You see that I am wellinformed," he added impatiently, seeing that Diogenes had becomesuddenly silent, and that a curious shadow had spread over hispersistently smiling face.
"So well informed, sir," rejoined the latter after a slight pause, andspeaking more seriously than he had done hitherto, "so well informedthat I marvel you do not know that by the terms of that same contract Ipledged my word to convey the jongejuffrouw safely to a certain spot andwith all possible speed, but that further actions on my part were toremain for mine own guidance. I also pledged my word of honour that Iwould remain silent about all these matters."
"Bah!" broke in Stoutenburg roughly, "knaves like you have no honour topledge."
"No doubt, sir, you are the best judge of what a knave would do."
"Insolent ... do you dare...?"
"If you like it better, sir, I'll say that I have parleyed long enoughwith you to suit my temper. This room is mine," he added, speaking everywhit as haughtily as did the other man. "I have business with thiswench, and came here, desirous to speak with her alone, so I pray yougo! this roof is too lowly to shelter the Lord of Stoutenburg."
At mention of his name Stoutenburg's sunken cheeks took on the colour oflead, and with a swift, instinctive gesture, his hand flew to the hiltof the dagger under his doublet. During this hot and brief quarrel withthis man, the thought had never entered his mind that his identity mightbe known to his antagonist, that he--a fugitive from justice and with aheavy price still upon his head--was even now at the mercy of thiscontemptible adventurer whom he had learnt to hate as he had never hateda single human soul before now.
Prudence, however, was quick enough to warn him not to betray himselfcompletely. The knave obviously suspected his identity--how he did that,Stoutenburg could not conjecture, but after all he might only have drawna bow at a venture: it was important above all not to let him see thatthat bow had struck home. Therefore after the first instant of terrorand surprise he resumed as best he could his former haughty attitude,and said with well-feigned carelessness:
"The Lord of Stoutenburg? Do you expect his visit then? What have you todo with him? 'Tis dangerous, you know, to court his friendship justnow."
"I do not court his friendship, sir," replied Diogenes with his gentlyironical smile; "the Lord of Stoutenburg hath many enemies these days;and, methinks, that if it came to a question of hanging he would standat least as good a chance of the gallows as I."
"No doubt, an you knew how to lay hands on him; you would be over readyto denounce him to the Stadtholder for the sake of the blood-money whichyou would receive for this act."
"Well played, my lord," retorted Diogenes with a ringing laugh."Dondersteen! but you apparently think me a fool as well as a knave. Laymy hands on the Lord of Stoutenburg did you say? By St. Bavon, have Inot done so already? aye! and made him lick the dust, too, at my feet? Icould sell him to the Stadtholder without further trouble--denounce himeven now to the authorities only that I do not happen to be a vendor ofswine-flesh--or else...."
A double cry interrupted the flow of Diogenes' wrathful eloquence: a cryof rage from Stoutenburg and one of terror from the girl, who all thiswhile--not understanding the cause and purport of the quarrel betweenthe two men--had been cowering in a remote corner of the room anxiousonly to avoid observation, fearful lest she should be seen.
But now she suddenly ran forward, swift as a deer, unerring as a cat,and the next moment she had thrown herself on the upraised arm ofStoutenburg in whose hand gleamed the sharp steel of his dagger.
"Murder!" she cried in a frenzy of borrow. "Save thyself! he will murderthee!"
Diogenes, as was his wont, threw back his head and sent his merry laughechoing through the tumble-down house from floor to floor, until, inresponse to that light-heartedness which had burst forth in such aringing laugh, pallid faces were lifted wearily from toil, and aroundthin, pinched lips the reflex of a smile came creeping over the furrowscaused by starvation and misery.
"Let go his arm, wench," he cried gaily; "he'll not hurt me, never fear.Hatred has drawn a film over his eyes and caused his hand to tremble.Put back your poniard, my lord," he added lightly, "the pennilessadventurer and paid hireling is unworthy of your steel. Keep it whettedfor your own defence and for the protection of the gracious lady who hasplighted her troth to you."
"Name her not, man!" cried Stoutenburg, whose arm had dropped by hisside, but whose voice was still hoarse with the passion of hate whichnow consumed him.
"Is her name polluted through passing my lips? Yet is she under myprotection, placed there by those who should have guarded her honourwith their life."
"Touch my future wife but with the tips of thy fingers, plepshurk, andI'll hang thee on the nearest tree with mine own hands."
"Wait to threaten, my lord, until you have the power: until then go yourway. I--the miserable rascal whom you abhor, the knave whom youdespise--do give you your life and your freedom which, as you wellknow, I hold at this moment in the hollow of my hand. But remember thatI give it you only because to my mind one innocent woman has alreadysuffered quite enough because of you, without having to mourn the manwhom she loves and being widowed ere she is a wife. Because of that youmay go out of this room a free man--free to pursue your tortuous aimsand your ambitious scheme. They are naught to me and I know nothingabout them. But this I do know--that a woman has been placed in mycharge by one who should deem her honour more sacred than his own; inthis infamy I now see that you too, my lord, have had a hand. The lady,you say, is your future wife, yet you placed her under my care--a knave,a rascal--miserable plepshurk was the last epithet which you applied tome--you! who also should have guarded her good name with your very life.To suit your own ends, you entrusted her to me! Well! to suit mine ownI'll not let you approach her, until--having accomplished the errand forwhich I am being paid--I will myself escort the lady back to her father.To this am I also pledged! and both these pledges do I mean to fulfiland you, my lord, do but waste your time in arguing with me."
The Lord of Stoutenburg had not attempted to interrupt Diogenes in hislong peroration. All the thoughts of hatred and revenge that sprang inhis mind with every word
which this man uttered, he apparently thoughtwisest to conceal for the moment.
Now that Diogenes, after he had finished speaking, turnedunceremoniously on his heel and left Stoutenburg standing in the middleof the room, the latter hesitated for a few minutes longer. Angry andcontemptuous words were all ready to his lips, but Diogenes was payingno heed to him; he had drawn the girl with him to the bedside of thecripple, and there began talking quietly in whispers to her.Stoutenburg saw that he gave the wench some money.
Smothering a final, comprehensive oath the noble lord went quietly outof the room.
"How that man doth hate thee," whispered the girl in awe-struck tones,as soon as she saw that the door had closed behind him. "And I hate him,too," she added, as she clenched her thin hands, "he is cruel, coarseand evil."
"Cruel, coarse and evil?" said Diogenes with a shrug of his wideshoulders, "and yet there is a delicate, innocent girl who loves himwell enough to forget all his crimes and to plight her troth to him.Women are strange creatures, wench--'tis a wise philosopher who steerswidely clear of their path."