CHAPTER XXII
A MEETING AND A PARTING
Lysbeth did not sleep that night, for even if her misery would have
let her sleep, she could not because of the physical fire that burnt
in her veins, and the strange pangs of agony which pierced her head.
At first she thought little of them, but when at last the cold light
of the autumn morning dawned she went to a mirror and examined
herself, and there upon her neck she found a hard red swelling of the
size of a nut. Then Lysbeth knew that she had caught the plague from
the Vrouw Jansen, and laughed aloud, a dreary little laugh, since if
all she loved were to die, it seemed to her good that she should die
also. Elsa was abed prostrated with grief, and, shutting herself in
her room, Lysbeth suffered none to come near her except one woman who
she knew had recovered from the plague in past years, but even to her
she said nothing of her sickness.
About eleven o'clock in the morning this woman rushed into her chamber
crying, "They have escaped! They have escaped!"
"Who?" gasped Lysbeth, springing from her chair.
"Your son Foy and Red Martin," and she told the tale of how the naked
man with the naked sword, carrying the wounded Foy upon his back,
burst his way roaring from the Gevangenhuis, and, protected by the
people, had run through the town and out of the Morsch poort, heading
for the Haarlemer Meer.
As she listened Lysbeth's eyes flamed up with a fire of pride.
"Oh! good and faithful servant," she murmured, "you have saved my son,
but alas! your master you could not save."
Another hour passed, and the woman appeared again bearing a letter.
"Who brought this?" she asked.
"A Spanish soldier, mistress."
Then she cut the silk and read it. It was unsigned, and ran:--
"One in authority sends greetings to the Vrouw van Goorl. If the
Vrouw van Goorl would save the life of the man who is dearest to
her, she is prayed to veil herself and follow the bearer of this
letter. For her own safety she need have no fear; it is assured
hereby."
Lysbeth thought awhile. This might be a trick; very probably it was a
trick to take her. Well, if so, what did it matter since she would
rather die with her husband than live on without him; moreover, why
should she turn aside from death, she in whose veins the plague was
burning? But there was another thing worse than that. She could guess
who had penned this letter; it even seemed to her, after all these
many years, that she recognised the writing, disguised though it was.
Could she face him! Well, why not--for Dirk's sake?
And if she refused and Dirk was done to death, would she not reproach
herself, if she lived to remember it, because she had left a stone
unturned?
"Give me my cloak and veil," she said to the woman, "and now go tell
the man that I am coming."
At the door she found the soldier, who saluted her, and said
respectfully, "Follow me, lady, but at a little distance."
So they started, and through side streets Lysbeth was led to a back
entrance of the Gevangenhuis, which opened and closed behind her
mysteriously, leaving her wondering whether she would ever pass that
gate again. Within a man was waiting--she did not even notice what
kind of man--who also said, "Follow me, lady," and led her through
gloomy passages and various doors into a little empty chamber
furnished with a table and two chairs. Presently the door opened and
shut; then her whole being shrank and sickened as though beneath the
breath of poison, for there before her, still the same, still
handsome, although so marred by time and scars and evil, stood the man
who had been her husband, Juan de Montalvo. But whatever she felt
Lysbeth showed nothing of it in her face, which remained white and
stern; moreover, even before she looked at him she was aware that he
feared her more than she feared him.
It was true, for from this woman's eyes went out a sword of terror
that seemed to pierce Montalvo's heart. Back flew his mind to the
scene of their betrothal, and the awful words that she had spoken then
re-echoed in his ears. How strangely things had come round, for on
that day, as on this, the stake at issue was the life of Dirk van
Goorl. In the old times she had bought it, paying as its price
herself, her fortune, and, worst of all, to a woman, her lover's scorn
and wonder. What would she be prepared to pay now? Well, fortunately,
he need ask but little of her. And yet his soul mistrusted him of
these bargainings with Lysbeth van Hout for the life of Dirk van
Goorl. The first had ended ill with a sentence of fourteen years in
the galleys, most of which he had served. How would the second end?
By way of answer there seemed to rise before the eye of Montalvo's
mind a measureless black gulf, and, falling, falling, falling through
its infinite depths one miserable figure, a mere tiny point that
served to show the vastness it explored. The point turned over, and he
saw its face as in a crystal--it was his own.
This unpleasant nightmare of the imagination came in an instant, and
in an instant passed. The next Montalvo, courteous and composed, was
bowing before his visitor and praying her to be seated.
"It is most good of you, Vrouw van Goorl," he began, "to have
responded so promptly to my invitation."
"Perhaps, Count de Montalvo," she replied, "you will do me the favour
to set out your business in as few words as possible."
"Most certainly; that is my desire. Let me free your mind of
apprehension. The past has mingled memories for both of us, some of
them bitter, some, let me hope, sweet," and he laid his hand upon his
heart and sighed. "But it is a dead past, so, dear lady, let us agree
to bury it in a fitting silence."
Lysbeth made no answer, only her mouth grew a trifle more stern.
"Now, one word more, and I will come to the point. Let me congratulate
you upon the gallant deeds of a gallant son. Of course his courage and
dexterity, with that of the red giant, Martin, have told against
myself, have, in short, lost me a trick in the game. But I am an old
soldier, and I can assure you that the details of their fight
yesterday at the factory, and of their marvellous escape from--from--
well, painful surroundings this morning, have stirred my blood and
made my heart beat fast."
"I have heard the tale; do not trouble to repeat it," said Lysbeth.
"It is only what I expected of them, but I thank God that it has
pleased Him to let them live on so that in due course they may
fearfully avenge a beloved father and master."
Montalvo coughed and turned his head with the idea of avoiding that
ghastly nightmare of a pitiful little man falling down a fathomless
gulf which had sprung up suddenly in his mind again.
"Well," he went on, "a truce to compliments. They escaped, and I am
glad of it, whatever murders they may contemplate in the future. Yes,
notwithstanding their great crimes and manslayings in the past I am
glad that they escaped, although it was my duty to keep them while I
could--and if I should catch them it will be my duty--but I needn't
talk of that to you. Of course, however, you know, there is one
gentleman who was not quite so fortunate."
"My husband?"
"Yes, your worthy husband, who, happily for my reputation as captain
of one of His Majesty's prisons, occupies an upstairs room."
"What of him?" asked Lysbeth.
"Dear lady, don't be over anxious; there is nothing so wearing as
anxiety. I was coming to the matter." Then, with a sudden change of
manner, he added, "It is needful, Lysbeth, that I should set out the
situation."
"What situation do you mean?"
"Well, principally that of the treasure."
"What treasure?"
"Oh! woman, do not waste time in trying to fool me. The treasure, the
vast, the incalculable treasure of Hendrik Brant which Foy van Goorl
and Martin, who have escaped"--and he ground his teeth together at the
anguish of the thought--"disposed of somewhere in the Haarlemer Meer."
"Well, what about this treasure?"
"I want it, that is all."
"Then you had best go to seek it."
"That is my intention, and I shall begin the search--in the heart of
Dirk van Goorl," he added, slowly crushing the handkerchief he held
with his long fingers as though it were a living thing that could be
choked to death.
Lysbeth never stirred, she had expected this.
"You will find it a poor mine to dig in," she said, "for he knows
nothing of the whereabouts of this money. Nobody knows anything of it
now. Martin hid it, as I understand, and lost the paper, so it will
lie there till the Haarlemer Meer is drained."
"Dear me! Do you know I have heard that story before; yes, from the
excellent Martin himself--and, do you know, I don't quite believe it."
"I cannot help what you believe or do not believe. You may remember
that it was always my habit to speak the truth."
"Quite so, but others may be less conscientious. See here," and
drawing a paper from his doublet, he held it before her. It was
nothing less than the death-warrant of Dirk van Goorl, signed by the
Inquisitor, duly authorised thereto.
Mechanically she read it and understood.
"You will observe," he went on, "that the method of the criminal's
execution is left to the good wisdom of our well-beloved--etc., in
plain language, to me. Now might I trouble you so far as to look out
of this little window? What do you see in front of you? A kitchen?
Quite so; always a homely and pleasant sight in the eyes of an
excellent housewife like yourself. And--do you mind bending forward a
little? What do you see up there? A small barred window? Well, let us
suppose, for the sake of argument, that a hungry man, a man who grows
hungrier and hungrier, sat behind that window watching the cooks at
their work and seeing the meat carried into this kitchen, to come out
an hour or two later as hot, steaming, savoury joints, while he
wasted, wasted, wasted and starved, starved, starved. Don't you think,
my dear lady, that this would be a very unpleasant experience for that
man?"
"Are you a devil?" gasped Lysbeth, springing back.
"I have never regarded myself as such, but if you seek a definition, I
should say that I am a hard-working, necessitous, and somewhat
unfortunate gentleman who has been driven to rough methods in order to
secure a comfortable old age. I can assure you that /I/ do not wish to
starve anybody; I wish only to find Hendrik Brant's treasure, and if
your worthy husband won't tell me where it is, why I must make him,
that is all. In six or eight days under my treatment I am convinced
that he will become quite fluent on the subject, for there is nothing
that should cause a fat burgher, accustomed to good living, to open
his heart more than a total lack of the victuals which he can see and
smell. Did you ever hear the story of an ancient gentleman called
Tantalus? These old fables have a wonderful way of adapting themselves
to the needs and circumstances of us moderns, haven't they?"
Then Lysbeth's pride broke down, and, in the abandonment of her
despair, flinging herself upon her knees before this monster, she
begged for her husband's life, begged, in the name of God, yes, and
even in the name of Montalvo's son, Adrian. So low had her misery
brought her that she pleaded with the man by the son of shame whom she
had borne to him.
He prayed her to rise. "I want to save your husband's life," he said.
"I give you my word that if only he will tell me what I desire to
know, I will save it; yes, although the risk is great, I will even
manage his escape, and I shall ask you to go upstairs presently and
explain my amiable intentions to him." Then he thought a moment and
added, "But you mentioned one Adrian. Pray do you mean the gentleman
whose signature appears here?" and he handed her another document,
saying, "Read it quietly, there is no hurry. The good Dirk is not
starving yet; I am informed, indeed, that he has just made an
excellent breakfast--not his last by many thousands, let us hope."
Lysbeth took the sheets and glanced at them. Then her intelligence
awoke, and she read on fiercely until her eye came to the well-known
signature at the foot of the last page. She cast the roll down with a
cry as though a serpent had sprung from its pages and bitten her.
"I fear that you are pained," said Montalvo sympathetically, "and no
wonder, for myself I have gone through such disillusionments, and know
how they wound a generous nature. That's why I showed you this
document, because I also am generous and wish to warn you against this
young gentleman, who, I understand, you allege is my son. You see the
person who would betray his brother might even go a step further and
betray his mother, so, if you take my advice, you will keep an eye
upon the young man. Also I am bound to remind you that it is more or
less your own fault. It is a most unlucky thing to curse a child
before it is born--you remember the incident? That curse has come home
to roost with a vengeance. What a warning against giving way to the
passion of the moment!"
Lysbeth heeded him no longer; she was thinking as she had never
thought before. At that moment, as though by an inspiration, there
floated into her mind the words of the dead Vrouw Jansen: "The plague,
I wish that I had caught it before, for then I would have taken it to
him in prison, and they couldn't have treated him as they did." Dirk
was in prison, and Dirk was to be starved to death, for, whatever
Montalvo might think, he did not know the secret, and, therefore,
could not tell it. And she--she had the plague on her; she knew its
symptoms well, and its poison was burning in her every vein, although
she still could think and speak and walk.
Well, why not? It would be no crime. Indeed, if it was a crime, she
cared little; it would be better that he should die of the plague in
five days, or perhaps in two, if it worked quickly, as it often did
with the full-blooded, than that he should linger on starving for
twelve or more, and perhaps be tormented besides.
Swiftly, very swiftly, Lysbeth came to her dreadful decision. Then she
spoke in a hoarse voice.
"What do you wish me to do?"
"I wish you to reason with your husband, and to persuade him to cease
from his obstinacy, and to surrender to me the secret of the hiding-
place of Brant's hoard. In that event, so soon as I have proved the
truth of what he tells me, I undertake that he shall be set at liberty
unharmed, and that, meanwhile, he shall be well treated."
"And if I will not, or he will not, or cannot?"
"Then I have told you the alternative, and to show you that I am not
joking, I will now write and sign the order. Then, if you decline this
mission, or if it is fruitless, I will hand it to the officer before
your eyes--and within the next ten days or so let you know the
results, or witness them if you wish."
"I will go," she said, "but I must see him alone."
"It is unusual," he answered, "but provided you satisfy me that you
carry no weapon, I do not know that I need object."
So, when Montalvo had written his order and scattered dust on it from
the pounce-box, for he was a man of neat and methodical habits, he
himself with every possible courtesy conducted Lysbeth to her
husband's prison. Having ushered her into it, with a cheerful "Friend
van Goorl, I bring you a visitor," he locked the door upon them, and
patiently waited outside.
It matters not what passed within. Whether Lysbeth told her husband of
her dread yet sacred purpose, or did not tell him; whether he ever
learned of the perfidy of Adrian, or did not learn it; what were their
parting words--their parting prayers, all these things matter not;
indeed, the last are too holy to be written. Let us bow our heads and
pass them by in silence, and let the reader imagine them as he will.
Growing impatient at length, Montalvo unlocked the prison door and
opened it, to discover Lysbeth and her husband kneeling side by side
in the centre of the room like the figures on some ancient marble
monument. They heard him and rose. Then Dirk folded his wife in his
arms in a long, last embrace, and, loosing her, held one hand above
her head in blessing, as with the other he pointed to the door.
So infinitely pathetic was this dumb show of farewell, for no word
passed between them while he was present, that not only his barbed
gibes, but the questions that he meant to ask, died upon the lips of
Montalvo. Try as he might he could not speak them here.
"Come," he said, and Lysbeth passed out.
At the door she turned to look, and there, in the centre of the room,
still stood her husband, tears streaming from his eyes, down a face
radiant with an unearthly smile, and his right hand lifted towards the
heavens. And so she left him.
Presently Montalvo and Lysbeth were together again in the little room.
"I fear," he said, "from what I saw just now, that your mission has
failed."
"It has failed," she answered in such a voice as might be dragged by
an evil magic from the lips of a corpse. "He does not know the secret
you seek, and, therefore, he cannot tell it."
"I am sorry that I cannot believe you," said Montalvo, "so"--and he
stretched out his hand towards a bell upon the table.
"Stop," she said; "for your own sake stop. Man, will you really commit
this awful, this useless crime? Think of the reckoning that must be
paid here and hereafter; think of me, the woman you dishonoured,
standing before the Judgment Seat of God, and bearing witness against
your naked, shivering soul. Think of him, the good and harmless man
whom you are about cruelly to butcher, crying in the ear of Christ,
'Look upon Juan de Montalvo, my pitiless murderer----'"
"Silence," shouted Montalvo, yet shrinking back against the wall as
though to avoid a sword-thrust. "Silence, you ill-omened witch, with
your talk of God and judgment. It is too late, I tell you, it is too
late; my hands are too red with blood, my heart is too black with sin,
upon the tablets of my mind is written too long a record. What more
can this one crime matter, and--do you understand?--I must have money,
money to buy my pleasures, money to make my last years happy, and my
deathbed soft. I have suffered enough, I have toiled enough, and I
will win wealth and peace who am now once more a beggar. Yes, had you
twenty husbands, I would crush the life out of all of them inch by
inch to win the gold that I desire."
As he spoke and the passions in him broke through their crust of
cunning and reserve, his face changed. Now Lysbeth, watching for some
sign of pity, knew that hope was dead, for his countenance was as it
had been on that day six-and-twenty years ago, when she sat at his
side while the great race was run. There was the same starting
eyeball, the same shining fangs appeared between the curled lips, and
above them the moustachios, now grown grey, touched the high
cheekbones. It was as in the fable of the weremen, who, at a magic
sign or word, put off their human aspect and become beasts. So it had
chanced to the spirit of Montalvo, shining through his flesh like some
baleful marsh-light through the mist. It was a thing which God had
forgotten, a thing that had burst the kindly mould of its humanity,
and wrapt itself in the robe and mask of such a wolf as might raven
about the cliffs of hell. Only there was fear on the face of the wolf,
that inhuman face which, this side of the grave, she was yet destined
to see once more.
The fit passed, and Montalvo sank down gasping, while even in her woe
and agony Lysbeth shuddered at this naked vision of a Satan-haunted
soul.
"I have one more thing to ask," she said. "Since my husband must die,
suffer that I die with him. Will you refuse this also, and cause the
cup of your crimes to flow over, and the last angel of God's mercy to
flee away?"
"Yes," he answered. "You, woman with the evil eye, do you suppose that
I wish you here to bring all the ills you prate of upon my head? I say
that I am afraid of you. Why, for your sake, once, years ago, I made a
vow to the Blessed Virgin that, whatever I worked on men, I would
never again lift a hand against a woman. To that oath I look to help
me at the last, for I have kept it sacredly, and am keeping it now,
else by this time both you and the girl, Elsa, might have been
stretched upon the rack. No, Lysbeth, get you gone, and take your
curses with you," and he snatched and rang the bell.
A soldier entered the room, saluted, and asked his commands.
"Take this order," he said, "to the officer in charge of the heretic,
Dirk van Goorl; it details the method of his execution. Let it be
strictly adhered to, and report made to me each morning of the
condition of the prisoner. Stay, show this lady from the prison."
The man saluted again and went out of the door. After him followed
Lysbeth. She spoke no more, but as she passed she looked at Montalvo,
and he knew well that though she might be gone, yet her curse remained
behind.
The plague was on her, the plague was on her, her head and bones were
racked with pain, and the swords of sorrow pierced her poor heart. But
Lysbeth's mind was still clear, and her limbs still supported her. She
reached her home and walked upstairs to the sitting room, commanding
the servant to find the Heer Adrian and bid him join her there.
In the room was Elsa, who ran to her crying,
"Is it true? Is it true?"
"It is true, daughter, that Foy and Martin have escaped----"
"Oh! God is good!" wept the girl.
"And that my husband is a prisoner and condemned to death."
"Ah!" gasped Elsa, "I am selfish."
"It is natural that a woman should think first of the man she loves.
No, do not come near me; I fear that I am stricken with the pest."
"I am not afraid of that," answered Elsa. "Did I never tell you? As a
child I had it in The Hague."
"That, at least, is good news among much that is very ill; but be
silent, here comes Adrian, to whom I wish to speak. Nay, you need not
leave us; it is best that you should learn the truth."
Presently Adrian entered, and Elsa, watching everything, noticed that
he looked sadly changed and ill.
"You sent for me, mother," he began, with some attempt at his old
pompous air. Then he caught sight of her face and was silent.
"I have been to the Gevangenhuis, Adrian," she said, "and I have news
to tell you. As you may have heard, your brother Foy and our servant
Martin have escaped, I know not whither. They escaped out of the very
jaws of worse than death, out of the torture-chamber, indeed, by
killing that wretch who was known as the Professor, and the warden of
the gate, Martin carrying Foy, who is wounded, upon his back."
"I am indeed rejoiced," cried Adrian excitedly.
"Hypocrite, be silent," hissed his mother, and he knew that the worst
had overtaken him.
"My husband, your stepfather, has not escaped; he is in the prison
still, for there I have just bidden him farewell, and the sentence
upon him is that he shall be starved to death in a cell overlooking
the kitchen."
"Oh! oh!" cried Elsa, and Adrian groaned.
"It was my good, or my evil, fortune," went on Lysbeth, in a voice of
ice, "to see the written evidence upon which my husband, your brother
Foy, and Martin were condemned to death, on the grounds of heresy,
rebellion, and the killing of the king's servants. At the foot of it,
duly witnessed, stands the signature of--Adrian van Goorl."
Elsa's jaw fell. She stared at the traitor like one paralysed, while
Adrian, seizing the back of a chair, rested upon it, and rocked his
body to and fro.
"Have you anything to say?" asked Lysbeth.
There was still one chance for the wretched man--had he been more
dishonest than he was. He might have denied all knowledge of the
signature. But to do this never occurred to him. Instead, he plunged
into a wandering, scarcely intelligible, explanation, for even in his
dreadful plight his vanity would not permit him to tell all the truth
before Elsa. Moreover, in that fearful silence, soon he became utterly
bewildered, till at length he hardly knew what he was saying, and in
the end came to a full stop.
"I understand you to admit that you signed this paper in the house of
Hague Simon, and in the presence of a man called Ramiro, who is
Governor of the prison, and who showed it to me," said Lysbeth,
lifting her head which had sunk upon her breast.
"Yes, mother, I signed something, but----"
"I wish to hear no more," interrupted Lysbeth. "Whether your motive
was jealousy, or greed, or wickedness of heart, or fear, you signed
that which, had you been a man, you would not have yourself to be torn
to pieces with redhot pincers you put a pen to it. Moreover, you gave
your evidence fully and freely, for I have read it, and supported it
with the severed finger of the woman Meg which you stole from Foy's
room. You are the murderer of your benefactor and of your mother's
heart, and the would-be murderer of your brother and of Martin Roos.
When you were born, the mad wife, Martha, who nursed me, counselled
that you should be put to death, lest you should live to bring evil
upon me and mine. I refused, and you have brought the evil upon us
all, but most, I think, upon your own soul. I do not curse you, I call
down no ill upon you; Adrian, I give you over into the hands of God to
deal with as He sees fit. Here is money"--and, going to her desk, she
took from it a heavy purse of gold which had been prepared for their
flight, and thrust it into the pocket of his doublet, wiping her
fingers upon her kerchief after she had touched him. "Go hence and
never let me see your face again. You were born of my body, you are my
flesh and blood, but for this world and the next I renounce you,
Adrian. Bastard, I know you not. Murderer, get you gone."
Adrian fell upon the ground; he grovelled before his mother trying to
kiss the hem of her dress, while Elsa sobbed aloud hysterically. But
Lysbeth spurned him in the face with her foot, saying,
"Get you gone before I call up such servants as are left to me to
thrust you to the street."
Then Adrian rose and with great gasps of agony, like some sore-wounded
thing, crept from that awful and majestic presence of outraged
motherhood, crept down the stairs and away into the city.
When he had gone Lysbeth took pen and paper and wrote in large letters
these words:--
"Notice to all the good citizens of Leyden. Adrian, called van
Goorl, upon whose written evidence his stepfather, Dirk van Goorl,
his half-brother, Foy van Goorl, and the serving-man, Martin Roos,
have been condemned to death in the Gevangenhuis by torment,
starvation, water, fire, and sword, is known here no longer.
Lysbeth van Goorl."
Then she called a servant and gave orders that this paper should be
nailed upon the front door of the house where every passer-by might
read it.
"It is done," she said. "Cease weeping, Elsa, and lead me to my bed,
whence I pray God that I may never rise again."
Two days went by, and a fugitive rode into the city, a worn and
wounded man of Leyden, with horror stamped upon his face.
"What news?" cried the people in the market-place, recognising him.
"Mechlin! Mechlin!" he gasped. "I come from Mechlin."
"What of Mechlin and its citizens?" asked Pieter van de Werff,
stepping forward.
"Don Frederic has taken it; the Spaniards have butchered them;
everyone, old and young, men, women, and children, they are all
butchered. I escaped, but for two leagues and more I heard the sound
of the death-wail of Mechlin. Give me wine."
They gave him wine, and by slow degrees, in broken sentences, he told
the tale of one of the most awful crimes ever committed in the name of
Christ by cruel man against God and his own fellows. It was written
large in history: we need not repeat it here.
Then, when they knew the truth, up from that multitude of the men of
Leyden went a roar of wrath, and a cry to vengeance for their
slaughtered kin. They took arms, each what he had, the burgher his
sword, the fisherman his fish-spear, the boor his ox-goad or his pick;
leaders sprang up to command them, and there arose a shout of "To the
gates! To the Gevangenhuis! Free the prisoners!"
They surged round the hateful place, thousands of them. The drawbridge
was up, but they bridged the moat. Some shots were fired at them, then
the defence ceased. They battered in the massive doors, and, when
these fell, rushed to the dens and loosed those who remained alive
within them.
But they found no Spaniards, for by now Ramiro and his garrison had
vanished away, whither they knew not. A voice cried, "Dirk van Goorl,
seek for Dirk van Goorl," and they came to the chamber overlooking the
courtyard, shouting, "Van Goorl, we are here!"
They broke in the door, and there they found him, lying upon his
pallet, his hands clasped, his face upturned, smitten suddenly dead,
not by man, but by the poison of the plague.
Unfed and untended, the end had overtaken him very swiftly.
