VII
William of Orange
Roxhythe had scarcely finished his breakfast next morning when once again Mr. Dart was announced.
Roderick was colder than ever. He returned King Charles’ ring to my lord.
“His Highness commands me to say that he will receive you this evening, sir.”
“Yes?” said Roxhythe. He drew forward a chair. “Can I offer you breakfast?”
“Thank you, I breakfasted two hours since,” said Roderick.
“Then you must be very hungry,” sympathised my lord. “Allow me to cut you some of this quite excellent bacon!”
“Thank you, no.”
Roxhythe sighed.
“You must know, sir, that His Highness has been suffering from a slight indisposition these last few days which has compelled him to keep his room.”
“I did not know.” Roxhythe was gravely concerned. “I am grieved to hear it.”
“You misunderstand me, sir. The Prince had intended to leave his room today, but since you are to have audience with him he deems it more prudent to allow De Witt’s spies to think him still unwell. If you will come to the Palace tonight at eight and ask for me, you will be taken to my rooms which are at some distance from the Prince’s. You understand that I am not suspect, so my guests may come unchallenged. I have already spoken of you to the Governor, Mynheer Van Ghent, and he is satisfied. You may trust me to smuggle you to the Prince his apartments.”
“Very neat,” approved Roxhythe. “Be assured that I shall be punctual.”
“If you please,” bowed Roderick, and took his leave.
“If the Prince his manners are like those of his servants, I am like to enjoy myself,” reflected Roxhythe. “Odd’s blood, but the young cockerel might be equerry to His Most Christian Majesty from the airs that he affects. … A damned Puritan lot,” he added gloomily.
In spite of this nonchalance, Roxhythe was curious to see Prince William. He had always heard that he was a youth of parts, and he thought now that he must be a youth of very forceful parts if all he had gathered from Roderick’s conversation were true.
At eight o’clock he presented himself at the Palace. He was conducted through the great hall, up the stairs, and along a corridor to a small, sparsely-furnished room.
Roderick rose and came forward, hands outstretched.
“Ah, Curtis! So you have come!” In Dutch he addressed the servant. “Bring glasses, Hans.”
The man withdrew.
“I must ask you to await his return,” said Roderick stiffly.
Roxhythe was shaken with silent laughter. Mr. Dart’s cordiality had dropped from him so suddenly.
Roderick eyed him with cold hostility.
“I think, too, that you had best retain your hat, sir, or stand with your back to the door.”
My lord bent over the fire, warming his hands.
“I trust your face has not been too closely observed,” continued Roderick.
Roxhythe always complained that Mr. Dart thought him a fool.
The servant reappeared. He set glasses on the table, drew corks, and retired.
“I do not wish to be disturbed, Hans,” warned Roderick.
“No, Mynheer.” The door closed softly.
Roxhythe picked up his hat and gloves. Roderick nodded.
“If you will follow me, please.”
The mocking light had gone out of my lord’s eyes. Roderick looked into the barrel of a small, gold-mounted pistol.
“I deplore the seeming churlishness of my behaviour,” said Roxhythe, “but if there should be foul play, Mr. Dart, you will suffer for it.”
Roderick was scornful.
“You may put that plaything away, my lord. There will be no treachery.”
“You relieve me,” said his lordship, still holding the pistol. “Lead on!”
Roderick shrugged. He went to a door at the opposite end of the room. “This way, sir.”
They passed into a narrow corridor, faintly lighted by an oil-lamp at one end. Roderick led the way along it, and up the flight of winding stairs that branched off from it. They came out on to a broad landing which was dark except for the light streaming from an open door. Someone came out of that door, and turned to look at them.
Roderick seemed not to see. He spoke crossly to Roxhythe in Dutch.
“You should not have left it until this late hour, Franz. If His Highness is asleep I cannot get the gloves for you, and I think it probable that he is asleep. He will be most displeased when he finds them still unmended. … Good evening, Van Druyslet!”
A good-natured voice laughed:
“Those gloves again, Dart!”
“There has been enough bother about them already,” said Dart, walking on.
“Ay. Good night.”
They went on down another passage, better-lighted, and not so narrow. A man was standing by a low couch outside one of the doors that flanked the corridor. Roxhythe took a firm hold on his pistol.
The man came forward, eyeing Roxhythe curiously. He addressed himself to Dart.
“In the Prince his study, Roderick.” He spoke in English.
“Thank you, Heenvliet. The Governor has visited His Highness?”
“Half an hour ago. His Highness feigned the migraine. It is quite safe, but in case of accidents I will cough outside the door, and you, my lord,” he turned to Roxhythe, “will secrete yourself in the cupboard by the fireplace.”
Roxhythe bowed. Roderick opened the door, and they entered a large, well-lighted room. It was empty, and, like the rest of the Palace, richly, but severely furnished.
Roderick held out his hand.
“That pistol, if you please, my lord.”
Roxhythe handed it over, smiling.
“Did you think I meant to assassinate the Prince?”
“I take no risks, sir,” said Roderick quietly. He went to where a heavy curtain hung, and pulled it back. “His Highness will be with you almost at once.” He disappeared.
My lord was again shaken with laughter.
“Oddsfish! ’tis as good as Etheridge his best!” he told himself. “The little princeling! … But he would appear to have good servants,” he added, thinking of the man on the passage.
The Palace was very silent. A cinder falling on to the hearth caused his lordship to start as at an explosion. The candles were burning steadily; not even the wind moaned.
“A damned gloomy place,” said Roxhythe. He drew a bulky package from his breast, and laid it on the carven table.
There was not a sound anywhere; no movement, no sign of life; everything was eerily silent. Roxhythe shivered.
“William of Orange has my sympathy,” he murmured.
The heavy curtains swung noiselessly back. A slight youth, with great eyes burning in an unnaturally pale face, came quickly into the room. Dart followed him, and the curtain fell back into place.
The boy was dressed as plainly as Dart. Light curls fell to his shoulders and framed his hawk-face. His eyes were hazel, cold and keen, the nose aquiline; the mouth thin. He gave Roxhythe the impression of one much repressed, and old beyond his eighteen years.
My lord swept a low, court bow.
“Your Highness!”
William spoke haltingly. His voice, even then, had a harsh timbre.
“Mi—lor’—Roxhyt’e?”
My lord bowed again.
“I have to thank Your Highness for receiving me at this hour. I am very sensible of the honour you do me.”
William inclined his head gravely. He spoke over his shoulder to Dart.
“Rodrigue, you may leave me.”
Roderick frowned quickly.
“Will Your Highness not permit me to remain?”
“It is not necessary. Heenvliet will show Milor’ Roxhyt’e back to your room. I wish you to go.”
“Very well, Sir.” Roderick went out.
William brought his eyes back to Roxhythe. He continued to speak Dutch.
“Well, milor’? You bring me a message from my uncle?”
“Yes, Highness. I have a proposition to lay before you on behalf of His Majesty,” said Roxhythe, also in Dutch.
“It is here?” William stepped to the table where lay Ashley’s packet. His hand closed over it.
“That contains the proposition, Sir, as writ by Lord Ashley.”
The Prince looked up quickly.
“So? Ashley.” He sat down at the table, and broke open the seals. “Be seated, milor’.” He spread the close-written sheets out before him, and resting his head in his hand, started to read.
Nothing broke the stillness save the crackling of the parchment, and occasionally a cough from the Prince.
While he read, Roxhythe studied the boy’s face, waiting for him to betray his feelings by some change of expression.
William read on steadily. Not an eyelid flickered.
Roxhythe marvelled more and more at this extraordinary youth. He realised that here was a personality as strong as, or even stronger than his own master’s, and at the same time, totally dissimilar. William’s manner was almost repellent; he employed no wiles to attract; he rarely smiled. To Roxhythe he had been brusque to the point of rudeness, yet his lordship was conscious of an overwhelming magnetism. He could understand now how it was that William was so well served. Instinctively he felt that William had the strength of character that his uncle lacked. He felt, too, that William could inspire unlimited confidence, and he knew, without knowing why, that even he, cynic that he was, would trust him implicitly.
William put the sheets together, and rested his hand lightly on them. For some time he did not speak, but sat looking straight before him, eyebrows drawn close across his forehead. His tapering fingers drummed on the folded parchment; a ruby ring caught the light of the candles, and winked sagely. It was the only ornament he wore.
“So this is Ashley’s proposition. …” he said slowly. “What has my uncle to say?”
“His Majesty but endorses what you have read, Highness,” answered Roxhythe.
William looked at him thoughtfully.
“I do not see what King Charles stands to gain by this,” he flicked the parchment.
Roxhythe was taken aback. He was not prepared for such ruthless perspicacity.
“Your Highness has a knowledge of men,” he said.
“Is it likely that King Charles would offer this—” again he flicked the parchment—“and demand naught in exchange?”
“No, Highness, it is not likely. Yet King Charles stands to get the worst of the bargain.”
For the first time William smiled.
“I cannot credit it, milor’.”
“Nevertheless, it is so, Sir. Have I your leave to speak?”
William nodded. His eyes never left my lord’s face.
“The matter is this, Highness: King Charles is desirous of seeing his nephew in his rightful place, and not a State prisoner. He hath no love for De Witt, and he thinks that the people of Holland have none either. He will aid you to overthrow their High Mightinesses, and he will make you Stadtholder—even King, if the thing were possible. It should not be difficult. You know, Sir, that the people grow tired of the Pensionary, and murmur your name again. At Rotterdam, at Middleburgh, at Amsterdam, and a score of other towns I could mention, feeling is very strong in your favour. King Louis is an all too powerful enemy and the Provinces require a leader. It is thought that you, Sir, inherit your great-grandfather’s genius. Were you to break free from De Witt and raise your banner at the right moment, crowds would flock to it. The nobles are on your side and the middle-classes will follow when they realize that in you lies salvation. King Charles will help you to drive out the French, and the combination will surely prove too strong for Louis.”
“Yes,” interrupted the Prince. “And the price?”
“You have read it, Sir.”
William moved impatiently.
“I have read many meaningless words and vague terms, milor’.”
“Briefly, Highness, it is this: In return for setting you in your rightful place, His Majesty requires the State to pay him a certain sum yearly, to be afterwards decided on. There would be some compact, of course.”
“I think that is not all,” said William. “What of that compact of which you spoke?”
“An alliance between the two countries, similar to the existing bond.” Roxhythe looked up. “That should benefit you, Sir.”
“It should also benefit King Charles,” said William drily. “And your English Parliament? They would like this?”
“Your Highness has read Lord Ashley’s letter.”
“Lord Ashley stands by the King. … Strange! Or does Lord Ashley work in the dark? He says nothing of this tribute to be paid to King Charles.”
Roxhythe’s brain worked swiftly. It was very evident that William was no fool. He saw through the offer and he would see through all subterfuges, however glib. The only course was to be frank.
“Highness, King Charles is in need of money. You know enough of the relations between King and Commons in England to see that he must look abroad for it. Two ways he may look: to France, or to you. France will ask too much in return; she would want to hold England ’neath her thumb—”
“Much as King Charles wants to hold me,” nodded the Prince.
“By no means, Sir. His Majesty wants to help you to the Stadtholdership. He will benefit by the compact; you will benefit still more, and the Commons will think they benefit.”
“His Majesty’s scruples are very nice,” said William. “He will not make England a catspaw of France, but he would like to make the Provinces a catspaw of England. A subtle distinction, milor’.”
“Your Highness hardly states the case,” said Roxhythe gently. “There is no question of catspaw.”
“No? Then I have greatly misunderstood you, sir!”
“Your Highness has said so.”
William looked down at the paper beneath his tightly-clenched hand. All at once he grew rigid and his eyes flashed. He began to speak, quickly, and with suppressed feeling.
“King Charles his offer is no less than an insult! He seeks to bribe me to sell my country to him—to barter mine honour! He has made a great mistake, sir! He thinks to frighten me, Nassau! with his evasive talk of Louis. Oh, ay! I have seen very clearly what he means! He is very sure that I may be bribed, and bought, and tricked! He thinks to dupe me with these vague promises”—he struck the parchment—“But I know him! These armies he will put at my disposal—this King Louis whom he will drive from my country! Does he think me such a fool that I do not know he will never offend the French King? Bah! ’Tis I who am to fight! I who must provide the money wherewith to equip mine army! I who must lead them! I who must do all, while he stands by, encouraging me, and tricking me with his subtleties, and his empty promises! The compact? I can imagine it very easily, milor’! A string of evasions with but one clear clause amongst them! And that that I should pay him tribute yearly! He thinks me a child not to be reckoned with. He does not know Nassau! You spoke of my great-grandfather’s spirit which my good uncle thinks I inherit. Tell him that he spoke sooth, and that William of Nassau treats his offer thus, and thus!” William tore the parchment sheets across and across.
“Highness, you misjudge His Majesty very grievously—”
“Do I so? Bah! He is afraid! He fears that Louis may be making me this same offer, and he cannot afford to have France and the Provinces united. His good intentions!” He laughed shortly, furiously. “He does not like to see me a prisoner! Yet he has seen me thus all these years, and raised but the feeblest finger in protest. He is slow to decide, your King! Well, there is mine answer!” He pointed to the scattered pieces of paper on the floor. “And further tell him that William of Orange will not stoop to intrigue behind the back of the State, nor will he sell his people for his own advancement!” He paused and pressed his handkerchief to his mouth. A violent fit of coughing tore and racked his slender body.
Roxhythe waited for him to cease. When the Prince leaned back in his chair, quiet now, and with exhaustion written about his eyes, he answered him.
“Your Highness would do well to consider. Have you bethought yourself that it is not wise to offend the King of England?”
The pale lips parted.
“While I remain a prisoner King Charles cannot harm me. When I am Stadtholder he will not dare. There is Louis.”
“Your Highness is very sanguine. If you will not sell your country, as you call it, by whose help do you hope to overthrow the Oligarchy?”
“Have I said that I hoped to overthrow them? I desire to hold my rightful office, but I will raise no hand against a Government that I fully acknowledge. It will be by the people’s will alone that I become Stadtholder.”
“And if the people will it not?”
William’s eyes flashed again.
“Did you not assure me that they were ripe for my standard?”
“For your standard, Sir, yes. But if you raise it not they cannot stand by it. They will not rise for Prince William alone. Prince William with a force to back him, yes. It is a very different matter.”
“I do not fear.” The Prince spoke calmly now.
“Your Highness is young. You do not know the temper of a mob.”
“Then I shall learn, milor’.”
“By bitter experience.”
“Perhaps even that.”
There fell a long silence. It was useless to attempt further argument. The Prince meant what he said, and he knew what he was saying. Yet my lord tried to reason with him once more.
“Highness, I counsel you most sincerely not to reject my master’s offer thus lightly. You must realize what an impossible task it is that you set yourself. You will have your country divided against itself, some standing for you, others for the Pensionary. Also you will have a French army marching upon you; perhaps, too, an English army. You would do well to consider.”
“I have considered. What King Charles asks is impossible. I am not a Stuart—I cannot so unconcernedly sell my country. Milor’ Roxhythe, I beg you will not waste your breath seeking to persuade me. Do you think I have not had just such an offer before? I have considered well, and there lies my answer.”
Roxhythe rose.
“Then there is no more to be said, Highness. I trust you will not regret this day’s work. Again I implore you to consider well. I shall return to the Hague in a few days’ time, staying at the Poisson d’Or. A message will bring me very swiftly. Think it over carefully, Highness, and remember that together England and the Provinces would be very powerful.” He picked up his hat. “I have to thank you for this audience, Sir. I fear it has tired you.”
“No, milor’.” William pressed his handkerchief to his lips again. “I am sorry that you should have been put to this unnecessary trouble. Your King has sent you on a fool’s errand. My answer is final.”
“Nevertheless, Highness, I shall be at the Poisson d’Or for ten days.”
William shook his head. He struck the hand-bell at his side.
Heenvliet appeared.
“Conduct milor’ to Mynheer Dart,” ordered William. “Milor’ ”—he moved his head wearily—“I will not detain you longer. I thank you for your patience.”
Roxhythe bowed as he would have bowed to the King, his master.
“I do not despair, Highness. Permit me to compliment you on your integrity.”
So he left William, Prince of Orange, seated in the high-backed chair, with the scattered scraps of parchment at his feet, a solitary figure, bodily frail, but with the light of indomitable courage shining in his dark eyes, and a steadfast purpose before him.
He knew that he had failed; he knew that the little princeling whom he had pitied—whom he still pitied—was one of the world’s great men; a prince who, one day, would have to be reckoned with; a prince who was not to be bought; a prince who was also an honest man.