The Laughing Cavalier Baroness Orczy (bill gates books recommendations txt) 📖

not know his way about. I am convinced that he wished to ascertain exactly whither we were taking the jongejuffrouw. At any rate, I and some of our fellows who had lagged in the rear caught sight of him then⁠ ⁠…”

“And you seized him?” cried Stoutenburg with exultant joy.

“He was alone, my lord,” replied Jan with a placid smile, “and there were seven of us at the time. Two or three of the men, though, are even now nursing unpleasant wounds. I myself fared rather badly with a bruised head and half-broken collarbone.⁠ ⁠… The man is a demon for fighting, but there were seven of us.”

“Well done, Jan!” cried Beresteyn now, for Stoutenburg had become speechless with the delight of this glorious news; “and what did you do with the rogue?”

“We tied him securely with ropes and dragged him along with us. Oh! we made certain of him, my lord, you may be sure of that. And now I and another man have taken him down into the basement below and we have fastened him to one of the beams, where I imagine the northwest wind will soon cool his temper.”

“Aye, that it will!” quoth Stoutenburg lustily. “Take the lantern, Jan, and let us to him at once. Beresteyn, friend, will you come too? Your hand like mine must be itching to get at the villain’s face.”

The two men took good care to wrap their cloaks well round their shoulders and to pull their fur caps closely round their ears. Thus muffled up against the bitterness of the night, they went out of the molens, followed by Jan, who carried the lantern.

Outside the door, steep, ladder-like steps led to the ground. The place referred to by Jan as “the basement” was in reality the skeleton foundations on which the molens rested. These were made up of huge beams⁠—green and slimy with age, and driven deep down into the muddy flat below. Ten feet up above, the floor of the molens sat towering aloft. Darkness like pitch reigned on this spot, but as Jan swung his lantern along, the solid beams detached themselves one by one out of the gloom, their ice-covered surface reflected the yellow artificial light, and huge icicles of weird and fantastic shapes like giant arms and fingers stretched out hung down from the transverse bars and from the wooden framework of the molens above.

To one of the upright beams a man was securely fastened with ropes wound round about his body. His powerful muscles were straining against the cords which tied his arms behind his back. A compassionate hand had put his broad-brimmed hat upon his head, to protect his ears and nose against the frost, but his mighty chest was bare, for doublet and shirt had been torn in the reckless fight which preceded final capture.

Jan held up the lantern and pointed out to my lord the prisoner whom he was so proud to have captured. The light fell upon the pinioned figure, splendid in its air of rebellious helplessness. Here was a man, momentarily conquered it is true, but obviously not vanquished, and though the ropes now cut into his body, though the biting wind lashed his bare chest, and dark stains showed upon his shirt, the spirit within was as free and untrammelled as ever⁠—the spirit of independence and of adventure which is willing to accept the knockdown blows of fate as readily and cheerfully as her favours.

Despite the torn shirt and the ragged doublet there was yet an air of swagger about the whole person of the man, swagger that became almost insolent as the Lord of Stoutenburg approached. He threw back his head and looked his sworn enemy straight in the face, his eyes were laughing still, and a smile of cool irony played round his lips.

“Well done, Jan!” quoth Stoutenburg with a deep sigh of satisfaction.

He was standing with arms akimbo and legs wide apart, enjoying to the full the intense delight of gazing for awhile in silence on his discomfited enemy.

“Ah! but it is good,” he said at last, “to look upon a helpless rogue.”

“ ’Tis a sight then,” retorted the prisoner lightly, “which your Magnificence hath often provided for your friends and your adherents.”

“Bah!” rejoined Stoutenburg, who was determined to curb his temper if he could, “your insolence now, my man, hath not the power to anger me. It strikes me as ludicrous⁠—even pathetic in its senselessness. An I were in your unpleasant position, I would try by submission to earn a slight measure of leniency from my betters.”

“No doubt you would, my lord,” quoth Diogenes dryly, “but you see I have up to now not yet come across my betters. When I do, I may take your advice.”

“Verdommte Keerl! What say you, Beresteyn,” added Stoutenburg turning to his friend, “shall we leave him here tonight to cool his impudence, we can always hang him tomorrow.”

Beresteyn made no immediate reply, his face was pale and haggard, and his glance⁠—shifty and furtive⁠—seemed to avoid that of the prisoner.

“You must see that the fellow is well guarded, Jan,” resumed Stoutenburg curtly, “give him some food, but on no account allow him the slightest freedom.”

“My letters to Ben Isaje,” murmured Beresteyn, as Stoutenburg already turned to go. “Hath he perchance got them by him still?”

“The letters! yes! I have forgotten!” said the other. “Search him, Jan!” he commanded.

Jan put down the lantern and then proceeded to lay rough hands upon the captive philosopher; he had a heavy score to pay off against him⁠—an aching collarbone and a bruised head, and the weight of a powerful fist to avenge. He was not like to be gentle in his task. He tore at the prisoner’s doublet and in his search for a hidden pocket he disclosed an ugly wound which had lacerated the shoulder.

“Some of us took off our skates,” he remarked casually, “and brought him down with them. The blades were full sharp,