CHAPTER XXXI.
“NOT AS TO A FLEMING, BUT AS TO A TRAITOR.”
After the death of his nephew, Baron Berlaymont redoubled his persecution of the Protestants. He saw to it that the gibbet and the stake were daily supplied with victims. One morning he entered the strongly-guarded palace where Alva resided, and passing unchallenged through the rooms where soldiers were stationed to guard the person of the Duke, he was ushered into the presence of the governor of the Netherlands. The Duke was in high spirits, having just been made the recipient of a jewelled hat and sword from the Pope, in recognition of his services for the Church. An autograph letter accompanied the gift, in which his Holiness urged Alva to remember that when he put the hat on his head, “he was guarded with it as with a helmet of righteousness and with the shield of God’s help, indicating the heavenly crown which was ready for all princes who support the holy Church and the Roman Catholic faith.” The sword was ornamented with the following Latin inscription: “Accipe sanctum gladium, munus a Deo, in quo dejicies adversarios populi mei Israel.”—“Receive the sacred sword, a gift from God, in whom you will overthrow the adversaries of my people Israel.”
Alva greeted the Baron almost cordially. “Your investigations have proved a mine of wealth,” he said. “I am glad I accorded you those privileges.”
The Baron could not conceal his pleasure at this praise. “I still have information, which is at your disposal,” he said.
“Then let us proceed to business,” replied Alva.
The Baron produced a chart, and laying it before Philip’s viceroy said, “Louis of Nassau is contemplating another invasion of the Netherlands, much against his brother William’s judgment. He intends to make Utrecht his objective point. There are many conspirators there. He will proceed to Amersfoort, and in case he is repulsed there he can fall back on Het Loo. He evidently expects to be supported by the ‘Beggars of the Sea,’ for he keeps in close proximity to the ocean.”
Alva glanced at the plans critically. With his superior knowledge of military tactics, he saw the weak points in the scheme at once. “Poor fools!” he said at length. “They seem anxious to thrust their heads into the lion’s mouth. It is well for us that these rebels are not sagacious enough to follow their Prince’s advice. I do not wonder Orange discouraged the campaign. What an insane idea of falling back on Het Loo, that unfortified village! Our work will be easy. The rebels will soon get tired of being annihilated. Now, as to some compensation for your services, Baron. I will represent your case to his Majesty, and recommend a suitable reward.”
“There is only one reward that I will for a moment consider!” said Baron Berlaymont.
The Duke eyed his visitor keenly.
“And that?”
“The office of Stadtholder of Brabant. I understand the place is vacant.”
The Duke crimsoned with anger. “Your request is certainly not lacking in boldness. The office you covet is next in rank to the regency.”
“I am aware of that fact," replied the Baron coolly. “You are the Regent of the Netherlands. No man after yourself has done more toward suppressing heresy than I have. I consider no one more worthy of the position of Stadtholder.”
“What if I do not choose to recommend you to this place?” said Alva.
“Then I shall cease my investigations in the interests of the government, and I shall warn the rebels of your moves. You know well enough that I should prove a dangerous enemy.”
Alva did know this to his cost, and he chafed furiously.
“Very well, Baron!” he replied grimly. “You shall have your wish.”
“Thanks, With your permission I should like this contract in writing.”
The Duke hesitated a moment, then seizing a pen he dashed off a few lines on a slip of paper, to which he affixed his seal. He handed it to the Baron.
The latter looked at the writing, then folded the paper and placed it carefully in his pocket
“Many thanks, your Excellency.”
“I desire to be alone!” said Alva. And without deigning his visitor so much as a nod in farewell, the Duke resumed his study of a chart. In a few moments he summoned Vargas.
“Did you notice my visitor?” he began abruptly.
“Yes. It was Baron Berlaymont.”
“What do you think that conceited Netherlander wants for his services? ”
Vargas looked interested.
“He wants nothing less than the position of Stadtholder of Brabant—-a position which was even denied William of Orange!”
Vargas held up his hands in horror.
“Juan Vargas?”
“Yes, your Excellency!”
“That man has outlived his usefulness. He has dared to threaten me. He is dangerous. What shall we do with him? How shall we manage to put him out of the way, and still not have Alva appear to have been a party to his death?”
The Spaniard thought for a few moments.
“You say he has incriminating papers on him? ”
“Yes, he has the plan of the proposed campaign of Louis of Nassau in his pocket.”
“Then he shall die, and that at the hands of the rebels,” replied Vargas.
“Do you think you can manage the affair discreetly? ”’
“Certainly. Your Excellency may safely entrust all details to me,” said Vargas.
“Very well! Then I will dismiss the matter from my mind.”
The next morning the citizens of the capital were electrified by the news that the “Tiger of Brussels” had been foully murdered. His body was found riddled with bullets, and on a paper which was pinned over his breast were these words: “Not as to a Fleming, but as to a traitor and a spy!
The hours which elapsed before Conrad Chenoweth could visit Doña Isidore de Cisneros dragged their slow length along. He vainly wished that the moments would speed faster, but Nature was too wise a mother to alter her times and seasons at the entreaties of anxious lovers. Well she knew that the world was full of such, and had been, since the day when Jacob tended the flocks of Laban and sighed for Rachael.
At last the appointed hour came, and Conrad and his friend set out for the home of the Spanish Doña. She met them with smiles and with the welcome assurance that Hilvardine was safe in her possession. She prepared them for the changed appearance of the girl, as she had been ill of prison fever.
Reynold Van Straalen was first summoned to her presence He was merciful to his friend, and did not prolong his interview. In less than a half hour he returned, with the welcome announcement that Hilvardine was feeling stronger and would see Conrad at once. A moment more and he was in her presence. Hilvardine’s face, wasted and worn by sorrow and sickness, still retained its loveliness. Her hair had been cut, and clung in short raven curls close to her face, giving it a look of extreme youthfulness. Her face was chastened in its expression, but her eyes shone with a happy light as she caught sight of Conrad.
He held out his arms, and straight as a homing dove she went to meet him. No words were needed. Time for them had no existence. Pain, fatigue, anxiety-all were forgotten in the felicity of this hour.
“God has been very good to me,” whispered Hilvardine.
“He has been better to me than my fears,” replied Conrad. “May He forgive me that for a time I doubted His love.”
A tap sounded on the door, and the face of Doña Isidore appeared.
“I shall have to interrupt you, Seigneur Chenoweth,” she said. “You have been here more than an hour, and my charge will not be in good condition to travel to-morrow unless she sleeps soundly to-night. Bid her adieu for a short time.”
Conrad immediately took leave of his lady, with loving assurances of a speedy reunion in Leyden. He felt confident that his mother would welcome his promised wife with great jay.
Conrad took Doña Isidore’s hand before leaving the house, and pressed a kiss upon it. “I cannot now express my gratitude to you in fitting words,” he said, in a broken voice.
“Believe me, it has been a pleasure to assist one so good and so beautiful as Mistress Van Straalen. I am glad that I have been permitted in this small way to atone for some of the cruelty of my fellow countrymen.” And the dark eyes of the charming Spanish Doña were full of tears as she spoke.