CHAPTER XL
THE LOSER PAYS
Nicolaes Beresteyn had not gone far when Lucas of Sparendam came runningwith the news. He heard it all, he saw the confusion, the first signs of_sauve qui peut_.
At first he was like one paralyzed with horror and with fear; he couldnot move, his limbs refused him service. Then he thought of hisfriends--some up in the molens, others at various posts on the road andby the bridge--they might not hear the confusion and the tumult, theymight not see the coming _sauve qui peut_; they might not hear that theStadtholder's spies are on the alert, and that his bodyguard might behere at any time.
Just then the disbanding began. Nicolaes Beresteyn pushed his waythrough the fighting, quarrelling crowd to where Lucas of Sparendam,still exhausted and weak, was leaning up against a beam.
"Their lordships up in the molens," he said in a voice still choked withfear, "and the Lord of Stoutenburg in the hut with the jongejuffrouw....Come and tell them at once all that you know."
And he dragged Lucas of Sparendam in his wake.
The Lord of Stoutenburg was at Gilda's feet when Beresteyn ran in withLucas to tell him the news.
After he had given Jan the orders to prepare the gallows for the summaryexecution of the prisoner he had resumed his wild, restless pacing upand down the room. There was no remorse in him for his inhuman andcowardly act, but his nerves were all on the jar, and that perpetualhammering which went on in the distance drove him to franticexasperation.
A picture of the happenings in the basement down below would obtrudeitself upon his mental vision; he saw the prisoner--careless,contemptuous, ready for death; Jan sullen but obedient; the menmurmuring and disaffected. He felt as if the hammering was now directedagainst his own head, he could have screamed aloud with the agony ofthis weary, expectant hour.
Then he thought of Gilda. Slowly the dawn was breaking, the hammeringhad ceased momentarily; silence reigned in the basement after theturbulence of the past hour. The Lord of Stoutenburg did not dareconjecture what this silence meant.
The thought of Gilda became more insistent. He snatched up a cloak andwrapping it closely round him, he ran out into the mist. Quicklydescending the steps, he at once turned his back on the basement wherethe last act of the supreme tragedy would be enacted presently. He feltlike a man pursued, with the angel of Nemesis close to his heels,hour-glass in hand to mark the hour of retribution.
He hoped to find rest and peace beside Gilda; he would not tell her thathe had condemned the man to death. Let her forget him peaceably andnaturally; the events of to-day would surely obliterate other mattersfrom her mind. What was the life of a foreign vagabond beside thedestinies of Holland which an avenging God would help to settle to-day?
The Lord of Stoutenburg had walked rapidly to the hut where he hoped tofind Gilda ready to receive him. He knocked at the door and Maria openedit to him. To his infinite relief she told him that the jongejuffrouwhad broken her fast and would gladly speak with him.
Gilda, he thought, looked very pale and fragile in the dim light of twoor three tallow candles placed in sconces about the room. There weredark circles round her eyes, and a pathetic trembling of her lipsproclaimed the near presence of tears.
But there was an atmosphere of peace in the tiny room, with its humblelittle bits of furniture and the huge earthenware stove from which thepleasing glow of a wood fire emanated and shed a cheerful radiancearound.
The Lord of Stoutenburg felt that here in Gilda's presence he couldforget his ambitions and his crimes, the man whom he was so foullyputting to death, his jealousies and even his revenge.
He drew a low chair close to her and half-sitting, half-kneeling, beganspeaking to her as gently, as simply as his harsh voice and impatienttemperament would allow. He spoke mostly about the future, only touchingvery casually on the pain which she had caused him by her unjustsuspicions of him.
Gilda listened to him in silence for awhile. She was collecting all herwill-power, all her strength of purpose for the task which lay beforeher--the task of softening a hardened and treacherous heart, of rousingin it a spark of chivalry and of honour so that it showed mercy therewhere it now threatened injustice, cruelty and almost inhuman cowardice.
A brave man's life was in the hands of this man, who professed love forher; and though Gilda rejected that love with contempt, she meant,womanlike, to use that love as a mainspring for the softened mood whichshe wished to call forth.
The first thought that had broken in upon her after a brief and troubledsleep was that a brave young life would be sacrificed to-day to gratifythe petty spite of a fiend. She had been persuaded yesterday that theman who--though helpless and pinioned--stood before her in all thesplendour of manhood and of a magnificent personality was nothing but acommon criminal--a liar, a forger and a thief.
Though this thought should have made her contented, since by bringingguilt home to a man who was nothing to her, it exonerated her brotherwhom she loved, she had felt all night, right through the disturbingdreams which had floated through her consciousness, a leaden weightsitting upon her heart, like the sense of the committal of some greatand irreparable wrong. Indeed, she felt that if here in this very placewhich he had filled last night with his exuberant vitality, she had tothink of him as silent and cold for all eternity, such a thought woulddrive her mad.
The Lord of Stoutenburg's honeyed words fell unheeded on her ear; hispresence near her filled her with horror; she only kept up a semblanceof interest in him, because he held the fate of another man in thehollow of his hand.
She was preparing in her mind what she was going to say to him, sherehearsed the words which were most likely to appeal to his callousnature. Already she was nerving herself for the supreme effort ofpleading for a brave man's life when suddenly the tramping of heavy feetoutside the hut, confused shouts and clang of arms, caused Stoutenburgto jump to his feet.
The door was torn open, and Nicolaes Beresteyn stood for a moment on thethreshold, pale, speechless, with body trembling and moisture thick uponhis brow. Lucas of Sparendam was close behind him equally pale andstill.
At first sight of her brother Gilda had uttered a little cry of joy; butthat cry soon died upon her lips. Beresteyn had scarcely looked on her,his glance at once had found that of Stoutenburg, and the two men seemedto understand one another.
"We are betrayed?" cried Stoutenburg hoarsely.
Beresteyn nodded in reply.
"How?"
Lucas of Sparendam in short jerky sentences retold once more the tale ofall that had happened at Delft: the Prince of Orange warned, the spieswhich he had sent broadcast, the bodyguard which even now was on itsway.
"They know of this place," murmured Beresteyn between quivering lips,"they might be here at any moment."
Through the open door there came the noise of the men fighting, thecries of rage and of fear, the clatter of metal and the tramping of manyfeet.
"They are scared and half mad," said Lucas of Sparendam, "in fiveminutes the _sauve qui peut_ will commence."
"We are quite near the coast," said Stoutenburg with outward calm,though his voice was choked and his tongue clove to the roof of hismouth, "go you and tell the others, Beresteyn," he added, turning to hisfriend, "then collect all our papers that are in the molens. Thank Godthere are only a few that might compromise us at all. Heemskerk and vanDoes will help you, they are not like to be seized with panic. We canthen make quietly for Scheveningen, where the boats are ready. There isa sledge here and a pair of horses which I shall need; but it is lessthan a league to Scheveningen, and you can all walk it easily. Tell theothers not to lose time and I will follow with the sledge as soon as maybe. There is no cause for a panic and we can all save ourselves."
Beresteyn made ready to go. He took less pains than Stoutenburg toconceal his terror and his knees frankly shook under him. At the door hepaused. He had suddenly remembered Gilda.
She had risen from her chair and stood now like a statue carved instone, white to the li
ps, wide-eyed, her whole expression one ofinfinite horror.
It had all been lies then, all that Stoutenburg had told her yesterday!He had concealed the monstrous truth, lying to her with every word heuttered. Now he stood there pale and trembling, the traitor who in histurn has been betrayed. Fear and blind rage were fighting their lastdeathly battle in his soul. The edifice of his treachery was crumblingaround him; God's hand--through an unknown channel--had set the limit tohis crimes. Twice a traitor, he had twice failed. Already he could seethe disbanding of his mercenary troops, the beginning of that mad, wildflight to the coast, and down the steps of the molens his friends toowere running helter-skelter, without thought of anything save of theirown safety.
It would be so immeasurably horrible to fall into the Stadtholder'shands.
And Gilda, pale and silent, stood between the two men who had lied toher, outraged her to the end. Nicolaes was a traitor after all; he hadcast the eternal shroud of shame over the honour and peace of his house.An God did not help him now, his death would complete that shame.
She tried to hold his glance, but he would not look at her; she feltthat his wrath of her almost bordered on hatred because he believed thatshe had betrayed them all. His eyes were fixed upon his leader andfriend, and all the anxiety which he felt was for that one man.
"You must not delay, Nicolaes," said Stoutenburg curtly, "go, warn theothers and tell them to make for Scheveningen. But do you wait forme--we'll follow anon in the sledge and, of course, Gilda comes withus."
And Beresteyn said firmly:
"Of course, Gilda comes with us."
She was not afraid, even when he said this, even when his fierce glancerested upon her, and she was too proud to make an appeal to him. It washer turn now to avert her glance from him; to the bottom of her soul sheloathed his cowardice, and the contempt with which she regarded him nowwas almost cruel in its intensity.
He went out of the room followed by Lucas of Sparendam, and now she wasonce more alone with the Lord of Stoutenburg.
"Gilda," he cried with a fierce oath, "when did you do this?"
"It was not I, my lord," she replied calmly, "you and Nicolaes did allthat lay in your power to render me helpless in this. God knows I wouldnot have betrayed you ... it is His hand that hath pointed the way toone who was more brave than I."
"'Tis false," he exclaimed violently, "no one knew of our plans savethose who now must flee because like us they have been betrayed. No saneman would wilfully put his head in the halter; and there are noinformers amongst us."
"You need not believe me, my lord," she rejoined coldly, "an you do notwish. But remember that I have never learnt the art of lying, nor couldI be the Judas to betray my own brother. Therefore do I pledge you myword that I had no share in this decree of God."
"If not yourself," he retorted, "you spoke of it to some one ... whowent to the Stadtholder ... and warned him! to some one ... some onewho.... Ah!" he cried suddenly with a loud and ghoulish scream whereinrage, horror and fear and a kind of savage triumph too rang out, "I seethat I have guessed aright. You did speak of what you knew ... to themiserable knave whom Nicolaes paid to outrage you ... and you offeredhim money to betray your own brother."
"It is false!"
"It is true--I can read it in your face. That man went to Delftyesterday--he was captured by Jan on his way back to Rotterdam. He hadfulfilled your errand and warned the Prince of Orange and delivered meand all my friends into hands that never have known mercy."
He was blind with passion now and looked on her with bloodshot eyesthat threatened to kill. But Gilda was not cast in the same mould as wasthis traitor.
Baffled in his crime, fear had completely unmanned him, but with everycry of rage uttered by Stoutenburg she became more calm and less afraid.
"Once more, my lord," she said quietly in the brief interval ofStoutenburg's ravings and while he was forced to draw breath, "do Ipledge my word to you that I had no hand in saving the Stadtholder'slife. That God chose for this another instrument than I, I do thank Himon my knees."
While she spoke Stoutenburg had made a quick effort to regain somesemblance of composure, and now he contrived to say quite calmly andwith an evil sneer upon his face:
"That instrument of God is an I mistake not tied to a post with ropeslike an ox ready for the butcher's hand. Though I have but sorry chancesof escape myself and every minute hath become precious, I can at leastspend five in making sure that his fate at any rate be sorrier thanmine."
Her face became if possible even paler than before.
"What do you mean to do?" she murmured.
"The man who has betrayed me to the Prince of Orange is the same man wholaid hands upon you in Haarlem--is that not so?"
"I cannot say," she said firmly.
"The same man who was here in this room yesterday, bound and pinionedbefore you?" he insisted.
"I do not know."
"Will you swear then that you never spoke to him of the Prince ofOrange, and of our plans?"
"Not of your plans ..." she protested calmly.
"You see that you cannot deny it, Gilda," he continued with that sameunnatural calm which seemed to her far more horrible than his rage hadbeen before. "Willingly or unwittingly you let that man know what youoverheard in the Groote Kerk on New Year's Eve. Then you bribed him intowarning the Prince of Orange, since you could not do it yourself."
"It is false," she reiterated wildly.
Once more that evil sneer distorted his pale face.
"Well!" he said, "whether you bribed him or not matters to me butlittle. I do believe that willingly you would not have betrayed Nicolaesor me or any of our friends to the Stadtholder, knowing what he is. Butyou wanted to cross our plans, you wanted to warn the Stadtholder of hisdanger, and you--not God--chose that man for your instrument."
"It is not true--I deny it," she repeated fearlessly.
"You may deny it with words, Gilda, but your whole attitude proclaimsthe truth. Thank God!" he cried with a note of savage triumph in hisvoice, "that man is still a helpless prisoner in my hands."
"What do you mean?" she murmured.
"I mean that it is good to hold the life of one's deadliest enemy in thehollow of one's hand."
"But you would not slay a defenceless prisoner," she cried.
He laughed, a bitter, harsh, unnatural laugh.
"Slay him," he cried, "aye that I will, if it is not already done. Didyou hear the hammering and the knocking awhile ago? It was Jan makingready the gibbet. And now--though the men have run away like so manyverdommde cowards, I know that Jan at any rate has remained faithful tohis post. The gibbet is still there, and Jan and I and Nicolaes, we havethree pairs of hands between us, strong enough to make an enemy swingtwixt earth and heaven, and three pairs of eyes wherewith to see aninformer perish upon the gallows."
But already she had interrupted him with a loud cry of overwhelminghorror.
"Are you a fiend to think of such a thing?"
"No," he replied, "only a man who has a wrong to avenge."
"The wrong was in your treachery," she retorted, even while indignationnearly choked the words in her throat, "no honest man could refuse towarn another that a murderous trap had been laid for him."
"Possibly. But through that warning given by a man whom I hate, my lifeis practically at an end."
"Life can only be ended by death," she pleaded, "and yours is in nodanger yet. In a couple of hours as you say you will have reached thecoast. No doubt you have taken full measures for your safety. TheStadtholder is sick. He hath scarce a few months to live; when he dieseverything will be forgotten, you can return and begin your life anew.Oh! you will thank God then on your knees, that this last hideous crimedoth not weigh upon your soul."
"A wrong unavenged would weigh my soul down with bitterness," he saidsombrely. "My life is done, Gilda. Ambition, hope, success, everythingthat I care for has gone from me. Nicolaes may begin his life anew; heis young and his soul is not like mine consum
ed with ambition and withhatred. But for that one man, I were to-day Stadtholder of half ourprovinces and sole ruler of our United Netherlands, instead of whichfrom this hour forth I shall be a fugitive, a pariah, an exile. All thisdo I owe to one man," he added fiercely, "and I take my revenge, that isall."
He made a feint as if ready to go. But Gilda with a moan of anguish hadalready held him back. Despite the loathing which the slightest contactwith such a fiend caused her, she clung with both her hands to his arm.
"My lord!" she entreated, "in the name of your dear mother, in the nameof all that is yet good and pure and noble in you, do not allow thismonstrous crime to add to the heavy load of sin which rests upon yoursoul. God is just," she added earnestly, "God will punish us all if suchan infamy is done now at this supreme hour when our destinies are beingweighed in the balance."
But he looked down on her suddenly, with an evil leer which sent a chillright through her to her heart.
"Are you pleading for a man who mayhap hath sent your brother to thescaffold?" he asked.
His glance now was so dark and so cruel, the suspicion which lurked init was so clear, that for the moment Gilda was overawed by this passionof hate and jealousy which she was unable to fathom. The quick hot bloodof indignation rushed to her pale cheeks.
"It was of Nicolaes that I was thinking," she said proudly, "if that mandies now, I feel that such a dastardly crime would remain a lastingstain upon the honour of our house."
"The crime is on you, Gilda," he retorted, "in that you did betray usall. Willingly or unwittingly, you did deliver me into the hands of mymost bitter enemy. But I pray you, plead no more for a knave whom yousurely must hate even more bitterly than I do hate him. The time goesby, and every wasted minute becomes dangerous now. I pray you makeyourself ready to depart."
She had not given up all thoughts of pleading yet; though she knew thatfor the moment she had failed, there floated vaguely at the back of hermind a dim hope that God would not abandon her in this her bitterestneed. He had helped her in her direst trouble; He had averted thehideous treachery which threatened to stain her father's honoured nameand her own with a hideous mark of shame; surely He would not allow thislast most terrible crime to be committed.
No doubt that vague frame of mind, born of intense bodily and mentalfatigue, betrayed itself in the absent expression in her eyes, forStoutenburg reiterated impatiently:
"I can give you a quarter of an hour wherein to make ready."
"A quarter of an hour," she murmured vaguely, "to make ready?... forwhat?"
"For immediate departure with me and your brother for Belgium."
Still she did not understand. A deep frown of puzzlement appearedbetween her brows.
"Departure?--with you?--what do you mean, my lord?" she asked.
"I mean," he replied roughly, "that out of the wreckage of all myambitions, my desires and my hopes I will at least save something thatwill compensate me for all that I have lost. You said just now that lifecould only end in death. Well! next to mine ambition and my desire forvengeance, you, Gilda, as you know, do fill my entire soul. With youbeside me I may try to begin life anew. I leave for the coast in lessthan half an hour; Nicolaes will be with us and he will care for you.But I will not go without you, so you must come with us."
"Never!" she said firmly.
But Stoutenburg only laughed with careless mockery.
"Who will protect you?" he said, "when I take you in my arms and carryyou to the sledge, which in a quarter of an hour will be ready for you?Who will protect you when I carry you in my arms from the sledge to theboat which awaits us at Scheveningen?"
"Nicolaes," she rejoined calmly, "is my brother--he would not permitsuch an outrage."
An ironical smile curled the comers of his cruel lips. "Do you reallythink, Gilda," he said, "that Nicolaes will run counter to my will? Ihave but to persuade him that your presence in Holland will be aperpetual menace to our safety. Besides, you heard what he said justnow; that you, of course, would come with us."
"My dead body you can take with you," she retorted, "but I--alive--willnever follow you."
"Then 'tis your dead body I'll take, Gilda," he said with a sneer, "Iwill be here to fetch you in a quarter of an hour, so I pray you makeready while I go to deal with that meddlesome instrument of God."
She was spent now, and had no strength for more; a great numbness, anoverpowering fatigue seemed to creep into her limbs. She even allowedhim to take her hand and to raise it to his lips, for she was quitepowerless to resist him; only when she felt those burning lips againsther flesh a shudder of infinite loathing went right through her body.
Soon he turned on his heel and strode out of the room. She heard thethin wooden door fall to with a bang behind him; but she could no longersee, a kind of darkness had fallen over her eyes, a darkness, in whichonly one figure appeared clearly--the figure of a man upon a gibbet. Allelse was blackness around her, impenetrable blackness, almost tangiblein its intensity, and out of the blackness which seemed like that of adungeon there came cries as of human creatures in hell.
"Lord have mercy upon him!" her lips, cold and white, murmured vaguelyand insistently, "Lord have mercy upon him! Lord have mercy upon usall!"