Leatherface: A Tale of Old Flanders

Lenora could hear her father's harsh laugh after this and then del Rio said blandly:

"Van Rycke did not believe in that oath."

"Perhaps not at first," Alva said, "but it was so finely worded and spoken with such solemnity, it was bound to carry conviction in the end."

"You were not afraid, Monseigneur," queried de Vargas, "this morning … in the crowd … after Mass … that the rebels would break the truce and fall upon our men?"

"No," replied the Duke curtly, "were you?"

There came no answer from de Vargas, and to the listeners it seemed as if by his silence he was admitting that he did not believe the Orangists capable of such abominable treachery. A fine tribute that-Lenora thought-from her father who hated and despised the Netherlanders! But he and Alva would even now call such loyalty and truth the mere stupidity of uncultured clowns.

"Anyhow it was worth the risk," de Vargas resumed after awhile, with that cold cynicism which will sacrifice friends, adherents, kindred for the furtherance of political aims.

"Well worth the risk," asserted Alva, "we have gained the whole of to-day. If these rebels had rushed the Kasteel this morning, I verily believe that we could not have held it: I might have fallen into their hands and-with me as their hostage-they would by now have been in a position to dictate their own terms before reinforcements reached us-always supposing that they did not murder us all. Yes," he reiterated with obvious satisfaction, "even if treachery had been in the air it was still well worth the risk."

"And in the meanwhile…" suggested del Rio.

"In the meanwhile Bracamonte is on his way here… He must have started well before noon … he might be here before nightfall…"

"With at least five thousand men, I hope," added de Vargas.

"Night may see us masters of this city once more, seigniors," rejoined Alva, "and by God we'll punish those rebels for the fright they have given us. Ghent will be envying Mons and Mechlin…"

The three men walked slowly away after that, and their voices were lost in the distance. The listeners could no longer distinguish what was said, but anon a harsh laugh struck their ear, and leaning out of the window Lenora could see the Duke and her father standing just outside the council-chamber. The Duke had thrown back his head and was laughing heartily, de Vargas too looked highly amused. Not one single word of remorse or regret had been spoken by either of them for the blasphemous oath which had finally overcome the resistance of the Orangists: of a truth it did not weigh on the conscience of the man who had so wantonly outraged his Maker less than an hour before he knelt at the foot of His Altar, and de Vargas and his kind were only too ready to benefit by the perjury.

The sack of Ghent-jeopardised for a few hours-was once more looming ahead as a coveted prize. What was a false oath or so-one crime the more-when weighed in the balance with all the money and treasure which the unexpected resistance of a few Flemish clowns had so nearly wrenched from these noble Spaniards' grasp?

V

"Didst hear?" came in a smothered whisper from Lenora. She had turned suddenly and now faced Grete, who stood wide-eyed and terrified in the centre of the room. Her arms were behind her, and she clung to the window-ledge: her fair hair-all loose-streamed round her shoulders; pale, with glowing eyes and quivering lips, she looked like some beautiful feline creature at bay.

"Didst hear?" she reiterated hoarsely.

"Every word, most noble lady," came the whispered response.

"What didst make of it?"

"That His Highness sent to Dendermonde for help, and that troops are on their way."

"But His Highness swore most solemnly that he would respect the truce which he himself asked for, and that both sides would resume the fight … this evening … just as they were before … without fresh help or reinforcements."

"I heard the men say last night, noble lady, that reinforcements had already been sent for from Dendermonde … the Duke feared that the Netherlanders were getting the upper hand … he asked for the truce only to gain time…"

"Then … if Captain Bracamonte arrives from Dendermonde with fresh troops the Netherlanders are lost!"

"God guard them," said Grete fervently. "He alone can save them now."

"Oh!" cried Lenora with sudden passionate bitterness, "how can men conceive such abominable treachery? How can God allow them to triumph?"

Grete said nothing. Her eyes were full of tears. Lenora stared straight out before her into the dark corner of the room: there was a frown of deep thought between her brows, and her fresh young mouth became hard and set.

"Grete," she said abruptly, "is it not horrible to think that those we care for are liars and traitors?"

Then, as Grete made no reply, she continued with the same passionate vehemence: "Is it not horrible to think that brave men must be butchered like cattle, because they trusted in the oath of a perjurer? … Oh! that all the baseness, all the lying should be on one side and all the heroism on the other! and that God should allow those monsters to triumph!.."

She paused and suddenly her whole expression changed-the vehemence, the passion went out of it … her lips ceased to quiver, a curious pallor overspread her cheeks and the lines of her mouth became hard and set.

"Grete," she said abruptly, "art afraid?"

"Of what, noble lady?" asked the child.

"Oh! of everything … of insults and violence and death?"

"No, noble lady," said Grete simply. "I trust to God to protect me."

"Then wilt come with me?"

"Whither, noble lady?"

"Into the city … alone with me … we'll pretend that we go to Benediction…"

"Into the city…?" exclaimed the girl. "Alone?"

"Art afraid?"

"No."

"Then put up my hair and get hood and cloak and give me mine…"

Grete did as she was ordered. She pinned up Lenora's fair hair and brought her a mantle and hood and wrapped them round her: then she fastened on her own.

"Come!" said Lenora curtly.

She took the girl by the hand and together the two women went out of the room. Their way led them through endless corridors and down a long, winding staircase; hand in hand they ran like furtive little animals on the watch for the human enemy. Down below the big flagged hall was full of soldiers: the two women only realised this when they reached the last landing.

"Will they let us pass?" murmured Grete.

"Walk beside me and hold thy head boldly," said Lenora, "they must not think that we are afraid of being challenged."

She walked down the last flight of the stairs with slow majestic steps: her arms folded beneath her cloak, looking straight ahead of her with that air of calm detachment and contempt of others which the Spanish noblesse knew so well how to assume.

Captain de Avila was below: at sight of donna Lenora he came forward and said with absolute respect:

"La señora desires to go out?"

"As you see," she replied haughtily.

"Not further than the precincts of the Kasteel, I hope."