Lysbeth, a Tale of the Dutch by H. Rider Haggard (fantasy books to read txt) 📕

be done up again. While the pair of them were engaged upon this tedious and unnecessary task, two fresh travellers arrived at the gate, a long, bony person, clothed in a priest-like garb with a hood that hid the head, and a fierce, dissolute-looking individual of military appearance and armed to the teeth. Catching sight of young van Goorl and his servant, the long person, who seemed to ride very awkwardly with legs thrust forward, whispered something to the soldier man, and they passed on without question through the gate.

When Foy and Martin followed them twenty minutes later, they were out of sight, for the pair were well mounted and rode hard.

“Did you recognise them?” asked Martin so soon as they were clear of the crowd.

“No,” said Foy; “who are they?”

“The papist witch, Black Meg, dressed like a man, and the fellow who came here from The Hague yesterday, whither they are going to report that the Heer Adrian routed them, and that the Broekhovens with the Jufvrouw Elsa got through unsearched.”

“What does it all mean, Martin?”

“It means, master, that we shall have a warm welcome yonder; it means that some one guesses we know about this treasure, and that we shan’t get the stuff away without trouble.”

“Will they waylay us?”

Martin shrugged his shoulders as he answered, “It is always well to be ready, but I think not. Coming back they may waylay us, not going. Our lives are of little use without the money; also they cannot be had for the asking.”

Martin was right, for travelling slowly they reached the city without molestation, and, riding to the house of Dirk’s correspondent, put up their horses; ate, rested, delivered the sample chandelier, and generally transacted the business which appeared to be the object of their journey. In the course of conversation they learned from their host that things were going very ill here at The Hague for all who were supposed to favour the New Religion. Tortures, burnings, abductions, and murders were of daily occurrence, nor were any brought to judgment for these crimes. Indeed, soldiers, spies, and government agents were quartered on the citizens, doing what they would, and none dared to lift a hand against them. Hendrik Brant, they heard also, was still at large and carrying on business as usual in his shop, though rumour said that he was a marked man whose time would be short.

Foy announced that they would stay the night, and a little after sunset called to Martin to accompany him, as he wished to walk in the Broad Street to see the sights of the town.

“Be careful, Mynheer Foy,” said their host in warning, “for there are many strange characters about, men and women. Oh! yes, this mere is full of pike, and fresh bait is snapped up sharply.”

“We will be wary,” replied Foy, with the cheerful air of a young man eager for excitement. “Hague pike don’t like Leyden perch, you know; they stick in their throats.”

“I hope so, I hope so,” said the host, “still I pray you be careful. You will remember where to find the horses if you want them; they are fed and I will keep them saddled. Your arrival here is known, and for some reason this house is being watched.”

Foy nodded and they started out; Foy going first, and Red Martin, staring round him like a bewildered bumpkin, following at his heel, with his great sword, which was called Silence, girt about his middle, and hidden as much as possible beneath his jerkin.

“I wish you wouldn’t look so big, Martin,” Foy whispered over his shoulder; “everybody is staring at you and that red beard of yours, which glows like a kitchen fire.”

“I can’t help it, master,” said Martin, “my back aches with stooping as it is, and, as for the beard, well, God made it so.”

“At least you might dye it,” answered Foy; “if it were black you would be less like a beacon on a church tower.”

“Another day, master; it is a long business dyeing a beard like mine; I think it would be quicker to cut it off.” Then he stopped, for they were in the Broad Street.

Here they found many people moving to and fro, but although the company were so numerous it was difficult to distinguish them, for no moon shone, and the place was lighted by lanterns set up on poles at long distances from each other. Foy could see, however, that they were for the most part folk of bad character, disreputable women, soldiers of the garrison, half-drunk sailors from every country, and gliding in and out among them all, priests and other observers of events. Before they had been long in the crowd a man stumbled against Foy rudely, at the same time telling him to get out of the path. But although his blood leapt at the insult and his hand went to his sword hilt, Foy took no notice, for he understood at once that it was sought to involve him in a quarrel. Next a woman accosted him, a gaily-dressed woman, but she had no bow upon her shoulder, so Foy merely shook his head and smiled. For the rest of that walk, however, he was aware that this woman was watching him, and with her a man whose figure he could not distinguish, for he was wrapped in a black cloak.

Thrice did Foy, followed by Martin, thus promenade the right side of the Broad Street, till he was heartily weary of the game indeed, and began to wonder if his cousin Brant’s plans had not miscarried.

As he turned for the fourth time his doubts were answered, for he found himself face to face with a small woman who wore upon her shoulder a large red bow, and was followed by another woman, a buxom person dressed in a peasant’s cap. The lady with the red bow, making pretence to stumble, precipitated herself with an affected scream right into his arms, and as he caught her, whispered, “Are you from Leyden, sweetheart?” “Yes.” “Then treat me as I treat you, and follow always where I lead. First make pretence to be rid of me.”

As she finished whispering Foy heard a warning stamp from Martin, followed by the footsteps of the pair who he knew were watching them, which he could distinguish easily, for here at the end of the street there were fewer people. So he began to act as best he could—it was not very well, but his awkwardness gave him a certain air of sincerity.

“No, no,” he said, “why should I pay for your supper? Come, be going, my good girl, and leave me and my servant to see the town in peace.”

“Oh! Mynheer, let me be your guide, I beg you,” answered she of the red bow clasping her hands and looking up into his face. Just then he heard the first woman who had accosted him speaking to her companion in a loud voice.

“Look,” she said, “Red Bow is trying her best. Ah! my dear, do you think that you’ll get a supper out of a holy Leyden ranter, or a skin off an eel for the asking?”

“Oh! he isn’t such a selfish fish as he looks,” answered Red Bow over her shoulder, while her eyes told Foy that it was his turn to play.

So he played to the best of his ability, with the result that ten minutes later any for whom the sight had interest might have observed a yellow-haired young gallant and a black-haired young woman walking down the Broad Street with their arms affectionately disposed around each other’s middles. Following them was a huge and lumbering serving man with a beard like fire, who, in a loyal effort to imitate the actions of his master, had hooked a great limb about the neck of Red Bow’s stout little attendant, and held her thus in a chancery which, if flattering, must have been uncomfortable. As Martin explained to the poor woman afterwards, it was no fault of his, since in order to reach her waist he must have carried her under his arm.

Foy and his companion chatted merrily enough, if in a somewhat jerky fashion, but Martin attempted no talk. Only as he proceeded he was heard to mutter between his teeth, “Lucky the Pastor Arentz can’t see us now. He would never understand, he is so one-sided.” So at least Foy declared subsequently in Leyden.

Presently, at a hint from his lady, Foy turned down a side street, unobserved, as he thought, till he heard a mocking voice calling after them, “Good-night, Red Bow, hope you will have a fine supper with your Leyden shopboy.”

“Quick,” whispered Red Bow, and they turned another corner, then another, and another. Now they walked down narrow streets, ill-kept and unsavoury, with sharp pitched roofs, gabled and overhanging so much that here and there they seemed almost to meet, leaving but a ribbon of star-specked sky winding above their heads. Evidently it was a low quarter of the town and a malodourous quarter, for the canals, spanned by picturesque and high-arched bridges, were everywhere, and at this summer season the water in them was low, rotten, and almost stirless.

At length Red Bow halted and knocked upon a small recessed door, which instantly was opened by a man who bore no light.

“Come in,” he whispered, and all four of them passed into a darksome passage. “Quick, quick!” said the man, “I hear footsteps.”

Foy heard them also echoing down the empty street, and as the door closed it seemed to him that they stopped in the deep shadow of the houses. Then, holding each other by the hand, they crept along black passages and down stairs till at length they saw light shining through the crevices of an ill-fitting door. It opened mysteriously at their approach, and when they had all entered, shut behind them.

Foy uttered a sigh of relief for he was weary of this long flight, and looked round him to discover that they were in a large windowless cellar, well furnished after a fashion by oak benches and a table set out with cold meats and flagons of wine. At the foot of this table stood a middle-aged man, prematurely grey, and with a face worn as though by constant care.

“Welcome, Foy van Goorl,” said the man in a gentle voice. “Many years have passed since last we met; still I should have known you anywhere, though I think you would not have known me.”

Foy looked at him and shook his head.

“I thought so,” went on the man with a smile. “Well, I am Hendrik Brant, your cousin, once the burgomaster of The Hague and its richest citizen, but to-day a hunted rat who must receive his guests in secret cellars. Tell me now, did my daughter, Elsa, reach your good father’s house in safety, and is she well?”

So Foy told him all that story.

“As I thought, as I thought,” said Hendrik. “Ramiro knew of her journey and guessed that she might carry some letter. Oh!” he went on, shaking his fist in a kind of frenzy, and addressing the two women who had played the parts of Red Bow and her servant, “who among you is the traitor? Can it be that you, whom my bounty has fed, betray me? Nay, girls, do not weep, I know that it is not so, and yet, in this city, the very walls have ears, yes, even this deep vault gives up its secrets. Well, if only I can save my fortune from those wolves, what do I care? Then they may take my carcase and tear it. At least, my daughter is safe—for a while, and now I have but one desire left on earth—to rob them of my wealth also.”

Then he turned to the girl decked out in the gay clothes, who, now that the chase was over, sat upon a bench with her face hidden in her hand, and said, “Tell me your story, Gretchen,” whereon she lifted her head and repeated all that happened.

“They press us hard,” muttered Brant, “but, friends, we will beat them yet. Eat now, and drink while you may.”

So they sat down and ate and drank while Hendrik watched them, and the man who had led them to the vault listened without the door.

When they had finished, Brant bade the two women, Red Bow and the other, leave the cellar and send in the sentry, replacing him as guards. He entered, a hard-faced, grizzled man, and, taking a seat at the table, began to fill himself with food and wine.

“Hearken, my cousin Foy,” said Brant presently, “this is the plan. A league away, near to the mouth of the great canal, lie certain boats, a score or over of them, laden with trading goods and timber,