IV
A certain commotion outside on the quay proclaimed the fact that the commander of the troops, the Lord of Stoutenburg, had entered the town at the head of his bodyguard, and followed by his master of the camp and his equerries.
He, too, made straight for the burgomaster’s house, brought his horse to a halt at the foot of the stone steps. With a curt nod, Nicolaes bade the old crones to run to the front door and receive his Magnificence. In this, as in everything else, the men obeyed at once and in silence.
But already Stoutenburg, preceded by his equerries and his torchbearers, had stepped across the threshold. He knew his way well about the house. As boys, he and his brother Groeneveld had played their games in and around the intricate passages and stairs. As a young man he had sat in the deep window embrasures, holding Gilda’s hand, taking delight in terrifying her with his impetuous love, and forcing her consent to his suit by his masterful wooing. A world of memories, grave and gay, swept over him as he entered the banqueting-hall, where, but for his many misfortunes—as he callously called his crimes—he would one day have sat at the bridegroom’s table beside Gilda, his plighted wife.
Both he and Nicolaes felt unaccountably relieved at meeting one another here. For both of them, no doubt, the silence and gloom of this memory-haunted house would in the long run have proved unendurable.
“I did not know that I should meet you here,” Stoutenburg exclaimed, as he grasped his friend by the hand.
“I thought it would be best,” Nicolaes replied curtly.
But this warm greeting from the infamous arch-traitor, in the presence of the two loyal old servants, brought a hot flush to the young man’s brow. The last faint warning from his drugged conscience, mayhap. But the feeling of shame faded away as swiftly as it had come, and the next moment he was standing by, impassive and seemingly unconcerned, while the Lord of Stoutenburg gave his orders to the men.
These orders were to prepare the necessary beds for my lord and for Mynheer Nicolaes Beresteyn, also for the equerries, and proper accommodation for my lord’s bodyguard, which consisted of twenty musketeers with their captain. Moreover, to provide supper for his Magnificence and mynheer in the banqueting-hall, and for the rest of the company in some other suitable room, without delay.
The two old crones took the orders in silence, bowed, and prepared to leave the room.
“Stay,” my lord commanded. “Where is the burgomaster?”
“In his private apartments, so please you,” one of the men replied.
“And his daughter?”
“The jongejuffrouw is with Mynheer the Burgomaster.”
“Tell them both I want them to sup here with me and Mynheer Nicolaes.”
Again the men bowed with the same silent dignity. It was impossible to gather from their stolid, mask-like faces what their thoughts might be at this hour. When they had gone, Stoutenburg peremptorily dismissed his equerries.
“If you have anything to complain of in this house,” he said curtly, “come and report to me at once. Tomorrow we leave at dawn.”
Both the equerries gave a gasp of astonishment.
“Tomorrow?” one of them murmured, apparently quite taken aback by this order.
“At dawn,” Stoutenburg reiterated briefly.
This was enough. Neither did the equerries venture on further remarks. They had served for some time now under his Magnificence, knew his obstinacy and the irrevocableness of his decisions when once he had spoken.
“No further commands until then, my lord?” was all that the spokesman said.
“None for you,” Stoutenburg replied curtly. “But tell Jan that the moment—the moment, you understand—that the burgomaster enters this room, he is to be prevented from doing any mischief. If he carries a weapon, he must at once be disarmed; if he resists, there should be a length of rope handy wherewith to tie his hands behind his back. But otherwise I’ll not have him hurt. Understand?”
“Perfectly, my lord,” the equerry gave answer. “ ’Tis simple enough.”