CHAPTER XXXIX
"SAUVE QUI PEUT"
Then it is that, out of the thickness of the fog a figure suddenlyemerges running and panting: a man has fallen up against the group ofsoldiers who have just halted beside the gibbet.
"It is Lucas of Sparendam come back from Delft," they cry as soon asthey recognize the stained face, wet with the frost and the mist.
Already Jan--who with Piet's help was busy with the rope--has heard thename. His wan, thin face has become the colour of ashes.
"Lucas of Sparendam back from Delft," he murmurs, "the Lord save usall!"
Lucas of Sparendam was sent yesterday to Delft by the Lord ofStoutenburg to spy and to find out all that was going on inside thePrinzenhof where slept the Stadtholder and his bodyguard of one hundredmen-at-arms: and now he has come back running and panting: his clothestorn, his face haggard and spent. He has run all the way from Delft--amatter of a league and a half! Why should a man half kill himself byendeavouring to cover a league and a half in one hour?
"A drop of hot wine for Lucas," cries one of the soldiers. "He isfaint."
The other men--there are close on forty all told--crowd round the gibbetnow, those in charge of the prisoner have much ado to keep the spaceclear. They don't say anything just yet, but there is a strange,restless look in their eyes and their lips tremble with all the unspokenquestions. Only two men remain calm and silent, Jan has never ceased inhis task of adjusting the ropes, and the prisoner stands quite still,bound with cords, and neither looking on Lucas nor yet on the gibbetabove him. His eyes are half closed and there is a strained look on hismerry face as if he were trying to listen to something that was too faroff to hear.
But one man in the meanwhile is ready with the bottle of spiced wine,the best cordial there is for a fainting man. The others make way forhim so that he can minister to Lucas. And Lucas drinks the wine eagerly,then he opens his eyes.
"We are betrayed," he murmurs.
"Great God!" exclaims Jan dully.
"Betrayed!"
"What does it mean?"
No one heeds the prisoner now. They all crowd around Lucas. Jan callsout his orders in vain: Piet the Red alone listens to what he says, theothers all want to know what Lucas means. They had been in the thick ofa plot of course, they all knew that: a guet-apens had been prepared bythe Lord of Stoutenburg for the Stadtholder whom he hates. The heavyboxes of course--gunpowder ... to blow up the wooden bridge when theStadtholder and his escort are half way across!
Of course they had all guessed it, thought on it all through the nightwhile they polished the arms--the swords and the pistols and thecullivers--which had been served out to them. They had guessed ofcourse--the foreign mercenaries who were always in the thick of everyconspiracy and well paid for being so--they had been the first to guessand they had told the country louts who only grinned enjoying theprospect of the fun.
But now they were betrayed. Lucas of Sparendam had come back with thenews, and even Jan stopped in his hideous task in order to listen towhat he had to say.
"It all happened yesterday," quoth Lucas as soon as he had recovered hisbreath, "the rumour began in the lower quarters of the town. Nobodyknows who began it. Some say that a foreigner came into the city in theearly morning and sat down at one of the taverns to eat and drink withthe Prince's soldiers."
"A foreigner?"
Jan turns to look on the prisoner and encounters his mocking glance.Smothering a curse he resumes his task of adjusting the rope upon thegibbet, but his fingers are unsteady and his work doth not progress.
"Yes, a foreigner," continued Lucas volubly, "though it all hasremained very mysterious. The Prince's soldiers spoke of it amongstthemselves ... the foreigner had said something about a guet-apens, aplot against the Stadtholder's life on his way to the North ... thenone of the officers heard the rumour and carried it to one of hissuperiors.... By the evening it had reached the Stadtholder's ears."
"Then what happened?" they all asked eagerly.
"Nothing for some hours," replied Lucas, "but I know that spies weresent round in every direction, and that by midnight there was generaltalk in the city that the Stadtholder would not continue his journey tothe North. When the captain of the guard came to him for orders thePrince said curtly: 'We do not start to-morrow!' As soon as I heard ofthis I made preparations. It was then an hour after midnight. I wasstill alert and listening: all around me--as I made ready to leave thecity--I heard rumours among the soldiers and spies of the Stadtholder,of their knowledge of a lonely spot--a deserted molens--near Ryswykwhere they declared many men did lately congregate. I heard too thatsoon after dawn the Prince's guard would make straight for the molens,so I put on my snow shoes and started to run, despite the darkness andthe fog, for we are all betrayed and the Stadtholder's soldiers will beon us in a trice."
Hardly are the words out of Lucas Sparendam's mouth than the commotionbegins, the disbanding; there is a roar and a bustle and a buzz: metalclashing, men rushing, cries of "we are betrayed! _sauve qui peut!_"
At first there is a general stampede for the places where the arms arekept--the muskets, the swords and cullivers--but these are thrown downalmost as soon as they are picked up. They are no use now and worse thanuseless in a flight. But pistols are useful, in case of pursuit. "Quick,turn, fire!... so where are the pistols?... Jan, where are thosepistols?"
There are not enough to go round: about a dozen were served out lastnight, and there are forty pairs of hands determined to possess one atleast. So they begin to fight for them, tearing one another to pieces,shouting execrations, beating round with bare fists, since the otherarms have already been laid down.
Now the confusion becomes worse than any that might reign among a herdof animals who are ready to rend one another: they tear the clothes offone another's back, the skin off one another's face: fear--hideous,overwhelming, abject fear, has made wild beasts of these men. The mistenvelops them, it is barely light in this basement beneath the molens:lanthorns have long ago been kicked into extinction. The hot breath offorty panting throats mingles with the mist, and the heat of humanbodies fever-heated with passion, fights against the strength of thefrost. The frozen ground yields under the feet, clots of mud are thrownup by the stampede, from the beams up aloft the heavy icicles melt anddrip monotonously, incessantly down upon those faces, red and perspiringin an agony of demented fear.
Jan and Piet the Red stand alone beside the prisoner: a sense of duty,of decency hath kept their blood cool. Until they are relieved fromtheir post of guarding this man by orders from their lord, they will notmove. Let the others rage and scream and tumble over one another, theremust be at least a few soldiers among this rabble.
And the prisoner looks on all this confusion with eyes that dance andsparkle with the excitement of what is yet to come. Torn rags and brokenaccoutrements soon lie in a litter in the mud, trampled in by fortypairs of feet. There is not one face now that is not streaked withblood, not one throat that is not hoarse with terror--the terror of theunknown.
In vain Jan from his post beside the prisoner shouts, harangues,appeals, threatens! A fight? yes! defeat? why not? but betrayal!... no,no, let's away. The Stadtholder is fiercer than any Inquisitor ofSpain ... his cruelty last February almost turned the nation againsthim. But now--this second conspiracy--Stoutenburg again! what hope forhis followers?
The horrors of last February perpetrated in the Gevangen Poort of 'SGraven Hage still cause many a rough cheek to blanch at theirrecollection. Men had gone mad who had heard the cries which piercedthose stone walls then. One executioner had thrown down his bloody toolsand fled from the place like one possessed! Van Dyk and Korenwinder,Slatius and the rest had been in hell ere a merciful death at lastreleased them from the barbaric cruelty of the Prince of Orange.
"No, no! such a fate cannot be risked. We are betrayed! let us fly!"
Suddenly one man starts to run.
"I am for the coast!" he shouts, and incontinently takes to his heels.
"_Sauve qui peut!_"
Like irresponsible creatures they throw down the very weapons for whichthey have been fighting. The one man has given the signal for the run.Everything now is thrown aside, there is no thought save for flight.
A splashing of the mud, a general shout, a scramble, a clatter--theyrun--they run--crying to those who are behind to follow and run too.
In five minutes the dark basement is clear of noise--a litter of brokenarms lies in one heap close by, others are scattered all over the groundin the mud, together with torn clothing, rags of leather and of clothand great red pools that mingle with the melted ice.
The mist surrounds it all, this abandoned battle field wherein fear wasthe victor over man. The swiftly flying figures are soon swallowed up bythe grey wall which lies dense and heavy over the lowland around; for atime they appear like ghosts with blurred outlines of torn doublets andscraps of felt hats placed awry; then the outline gets more dim as theyrun, and the kindly mist hides them from view.
Under the molens all is silent now. Jan and Piet the Red guard theprisoner alone. The gallows are ready or nearly so, but there is no oneto send to the Lord of Stoutenburg to tell him this--as he hathcommanded--so that he may see this man hang whom he hates. And it wouldnot be safe to leave the prisoner unguarded. Only from time to time Janlooks to see that the ropes still hold fast, but for the most part hiseyes are fixed upon the mist on his left, for that way lies Delft, andfrom thence will loom out by and by the avenging hordes sent by thePrince of Orange.
Now that all those panting, perspiring human creatures have gone, thefrost is more bitter, more biting than before; but neither Piet nor Janseem to heed it, though their flesh is blue with the cold. Overheadthere is a tramp of feet; the noble mynheers must have heard theconfusion, they must have seen the flight; they are even now preparingto do in a slightly more dignified way what the foreign mercenaries andthe louts from the country have done so incontinently.
The prisoner, hearing this tramp of feet over his head, looks morealertly around him. He sees that Jan and Piet have remained on guardeven whilst the others have fled. He also sees the pile of heaped-uparms, the broken metal, the rags and the mud, and through theinterstices of the wooden steps the booted feet of the mynheers runninghelter-skelter down; and a mad, merry laugh--that holds a world of joyin its rippling tones--breaks from his lips.
The next moment from far away comes a weird cry through the mist. A foxon the alert tries to lure his prey with that quaint cry of his, whichappeals to the young birds and encourages them to come. What should afox be doing on these ice-covered tracks? he must have strayed from veryfar, from over the moor mayhap beyond Gonda; hunger no doubt hath made awanderer of him, an exile from his home.
Jan listens--greatly astonished--what should a fox be doing here? Pietis impassive, he knows nothing of the habits of foxes; sea-wolves aremore familiar to him. With his eyes Jan instinctively questions theprisoner:
"What should a fox be doing here on these ice-bound flats?" he mutelyasks.
But the prisoner apparently cares nothing about the marvels of nature,cares nothing about exiled foxes. His head is erect, his eyes dance withglee, a happy smile lights up his entire face.
Jan remembered that the others last night had called the wounded man theLaughing Cavalier. A Cavalier he looked, every inch of him; the ropesmattered nothing, nor the torn clothing; proud, triumphant, happy, hewas laughing with all the light-hearted gaiety which pertains to youth.
The Laughing Cavalier forsooth. Lucky devil! if he can laugh! Jan sighedand marvelled when the Lord of Stoutenburg would relieve him from hispost.