By Pike and Dyke: a Tale of the Rise of the Dutch Republic by G. A. Henty (epub e reader TXT) 📖

heretics had been burnt to death, was now repeated a thousand fold by the Roman Catholic soldiers of Philip. The ornaments of the altars, the chalices, curtains, carpets, gold embroidered robes of the priests, the repositories of the Host, the precious vessels used in extreme unction, the rich clothing and jewelry of the effigies of the Virgin and saints were all plundered. The property of the Catholic citizens was taken as freely as that of the Protestants; of whom, indeed, there were few in the city. Men, women, and children were murdered wholesale in the streets.

Even the ultra Catholic Jean Richardot, member of the Grand Council, in reporting upon the events, ended his narration by saying "He could say no more, for his hair stood on end, not only at recounting, but even at remembering the scene." The survivors of the sack were moving listlessly about the streets of the ruined city as Ned rode through. Great numbers had died of hunger after the conclusion of the pillage; for no food was to be obtained, and none dare leave their houses until the Spanish and German troops had departed. Zutphen had suffered a vengeance even more terrible than that of Mechlin. Alva had ordered his son Frederick, who commanded the army that marched against it, to leave not a single man alive in the city, and to burn every house to the ground; and the orders were literally obeyed. The garrison were first put to the sword, and then the citizens were attacked and slaughtered wholesale. Some were stripped naked and turned out to freeze to death in the fields. Five hundred were tied back to back and drowned in the river. Some were hung up by their feet, and suffered for many hours until death came to their relief.

Ned put up at Antwerp for the night. The news of the destruction of Zutphen, and of the horrors perpetrated there, had arrived but a few hours before, and a feeling of the most intense horror and indignation filled the inhabitants; but none dared to express what every one felt. The fate of Mechlin and Zutphen was as Alva had meant it to be, a lesson so terrible, that throughout the Netherlands, save in Holland and Zeeland alone, the inhabitants were palsied by terror. Had one great city set the example and risen against the Spaniards, the rest would have followed; but none dared be the first to provoke so terrible a vengeance. Men who would have risked their own lives shrank from exposing their wives and children to atrocities and death. It seemed that conflict was useless. Van der Berg, a brother-in-law of the Prince of Orange, who had been placed by the prince as Governor of Guelderland and Overyssel, fled by night, and all the cities which had raised the standard of Orange deserted the cause at once. Friesland, too, again submitted to the Spanish yoke.

Ned, after putting up his horse at a hotel at Antwerp, sauntered out into the streets. Antwerp at that time was one of the finest and wealthiest towns in Europe. Its public buildings were magnificent, the town hall a marvel of architectural beauty. He stood in the great square admiring its beauties and those of the cathedral when he was conscious of some one staring fixedly at him, and he could scarce repress a start when he saw the malicious face of Genet, the clerk of Councillor Von Aert. His first impulse was to fly, but the square was full of burghers, with many groups of Spanish soldiers sauntering about; he could not hope to escape.

He saw by the expression on Genet's face that as yet he was not sure of his identity. He had before seen him only as a country boy, and in his present attire his appearance was naturally a good deal changed. Still the fixed stare of the man showed that his suspicions were strongly aroused, and Ned felt sure that it would not be long before he completely recognized him. Nothing could be more unfortunate than that this man whom he had believed to be diligently searching for him in Brussels should thus meet him in the streets of Antwerp. Turning the matter over rapidly in his mind he saw but one hope of escape. He sauntered quietly up to a group of soldiers.

"My friends," he said, "do you want to earn a few crowns?"

"That would we right gladly," one of them replied, "seeing that His Gracious Majesty has forgotten to pay us for well nigh a year."

"There is a hang dog villain with a squint, in a russet cloak and doublet, just behind me." Ned said. "I have had dealings with him, and know him and his master to be villains. He claims that I am in debt to his master, and it may be that it is true; but I have particular reasons for objecting to be laid by the heels for it just now."

"That is natural enough," the soldier said. "I have experienced the same unpleasantness, and can feel for you."

"See here, then," Ned said. "Here are ten crowns, which is two apiece for you. Now, I want you to hustle against that fellow, pick a quarrel with him and charge him with assaulting you, and drag him away to the guard house. Give him a slap on the mouth if he cries out, and throw him into a cell, and let him cool his heels there till morning. That will give me time to finish my business and be off again into the country."

"That can be managed easily enough," the soldier said with a laugh. "He is an ill favoured looking varlet; and is, I doubt not, a pestilent heretic. It would be a pleasure to cuff him even without your honor's crowns."

"Here is the money, then," Ned said; "but, above all, as I have said, do not let him talk or cry out or make a tumult. Nip him tightly by the neck."

"We know our business," the soldier said. "You can rely on us to manage your affair."

Ned sauntered quietly on. In a minute or two he heard a loud and sudden altercation, then there was the sound of blows, and looking round he saw two of the soldiers shaking Genet violently. The man endeavoured to shout to the crowd; but one of the soldiers smote him heavily on the mouth, and then surrounding him they dragged him away. "That is very satisfactorily done," Ned said to himself, "and it is by no means likely that Master Genet will get a hearing before tomorrow morning. He will be pushed into a cell in the guard room on the charge of brawling and insolence, and it is not probable that anyone will go near him till the morning. I certainly should like to peep in and have a look at him. His rage would be good to see; and he has been instrumental in sending such hundreds of men to prison that one would like to see how he feels now that it is his turn. Still I must not count too surely upon having time. He may possibly find some officers who will listen to his tale, although I do not think he is likely to do that; but still it would be foolish to risk it, and I will mount my horse and ride on at once."

The ostler was somewhat surprised when Ned told him that he had changed his mind, and that, instead of remaining for the night at Antwerp, he should ride forward at once. As Ned paid him handsomely for the feed the horse had had he made no remark, and Ned mounted and rode out through the town by the gate through which he had entered. Then he made a wide detour round the town, and rode on along the bank of the river until he came to a ferry. Here he crossed, and then rode on until he reached a village, where he resolved to stop the night, being now off the main roads, and therefore fairly safe from pursuit, even should Genet be able to satisfy his captors that a mistake had been made, and that those who captured him had in fact been aiding a fugitive to escape from justice.

The host of the little inn apologized for the poor fare that was set before him, on the ground of the exactions of the soldiers. "One can scarcely call one's life one's own," he grumbled. "A body of them rode into the village yesterday and stripped it clear of everything, maltreating all who ventured even to remonstrate. They came from Antwerp, I believe; but there is no saying, and even if we knew them it would be useless to make complaints."

Ned assured his host that he was very indifferent in the matter of food.

"In these days," he said, "if one can get a piece of bread one may think one's self lucky. But you have, I hope, sufficient forage for my horse."

"Yes," the landlord replied; "their horses ate as much as they could, but they could not carry off my supply of corn. Indeed the horses were pretty well laden as it was with ducks and geese. I let them have as much wine as they could drink, and of the best, so they did not trouble to go down into the cellar. If they had they would likely enough have broached all the casks and let the wine run. There is nothing that these fellows are not capable of; they seem to do mischief out of pure devilment."

Ned had scarcely finished his meal when a tramping of horses was heard outside.

"The saints protect us!" the landlord exclaimed. "Here are either these fellows coming back again, or another set doubtless just as bad."

A minute later the door opened and a party of a dozen soldiers entered.

"Wine, landlord! and your best!" a sergeant said. "Some comrades who called here yesterday told us that your tap was good, so we have ridden over to give you a turn."

The landlord groaned.

"Gracious, sirs," he said, "I am but a poor man, and your comrades on parting forgot to settle for their wine. Another two or three visits, and I am ruined."

A volley of impatient oaths at once broke out, and without further hesitation the terrified landlord hurried away, and returned loaded with flasks of wine, upon which the soldiers were speedily engaged.

"And who may you be, young sir?" one of them asked Ned, who was sitting at a small table apart from the rest.

"I am simply a traveller," Ned replied, "engaged upon my master's business."

"You are a likely looking young fellow too," the soldier said, "and would have made a good soldier if you had had the chance, instead of jogging about doing your lord's bidding; but I warrant me you are no better than the rest of your countrymen, and do not know one end of a sword from the other."

"I am not skilled in arms," Ned replied, "though my experience goes a little further than you say; but as you gentlemen protect the Netherlands, and we have no army of our own, I have not had the opportunity, even had I wished it, to become a soldier."

"Move over here," the soldier said, "and join us in a cup to the honour of Philip and confusion to the Prince of Orange and all traitors."

"I will join you in drinking to Philip, for in truth he is a great monarch and a powerful, and I will also drink to the confusion of all traitors whomsoever they may be."

"You are all traitors at heart," one of the Spaniards who had not before spoken, put in. "There is not a native of the Netherlands but would rise against us tomorrow."

"I