X
Ulenspiegel, in the garb of a pilgrim, and with no provision of food or money, departed incontinently for Bois-le-Duc, with the intention of warning the citizens. He reckoned to find a horse at the house of Jeroen Praet, the brother of Simon Simonsen, for whom he carried letters from the Prince. From thence he would go by side roads to Bois-le-Duc as fast as his horse would carry him.
As he was crossing the road he spied a company of soldiers coming towards him. This gave him a great fright because of the letters which he carried; but being resolved to put the best face on the misadventure, he awaited the arrival of the soldiers with all the courage at his command, standing still by the roadside telling his beads. When the soldiers came up with him he joined them, and soon discovered that they also were going to Bois-le-Duc.
At the head of the troop marched a company of Walloons led by a captain, Lamotte by name, with his bodyguard of six halberdiers. Then followed the other officers each according to rank, and with a smaller bodyguard: the provost with his halberdiers and two bailiffs, the chief watchman with the baggage-carriers, the executioner with his assistants, and a band of drums and fifes making a great row. Thereafter came a company of Flemish soldiers, two hundred strong, with their captain and his ensign-bearers. They were divided into two divisions, each of one hundred men, under the command of two sergeants, and in squads of ten under the command of corporals. The provost and his lieutenants were likewise preceded by a band of drums and fifes, beating and screaming.
Behind these, again, came two open wagons wherein rode the loving companions of the soldiers, pealing with laughter, twittering like birds, singing like nightingales, eating, drinking, dancing, standing, lying down, or sitting astride—all gay and pretty girls.
Many of them were dressed like foot-soldiers, but in fine white cloth which was cut away at the arms and legs and at the neck so as to show their sweet white flesh. And on their heads they wore bonnets of fine linen trimmed with gold and surmounted with magnificent ostrich plumes that fluttered in the wind. Their belts were of cloth of gold crimped with red satin, from which hung the scabbards of their daggers, made of cloth of gold. And their shoes, their stockings, their hose, their doublets, shoulder-knots and fitments were all of gold and white silk. Others there were, dressed also in the uniform of infantrymen but with uniforms of divers colours, blue, green, scarlet, sky-blue, and crimson, cut away and embroidered or emblazoned according to their fancy. But on the arm of each and all was to be seen the coloured band that indicated her calling.
The girls were in charge of a sergeant who did his best to keep them in order, but they made no pretence of obeying him, but bombarded him with japes and sweet grimaces so that he found it hard to keep his countenance.
Ulenspiegel meanwhile, in his dress of a pilgrim and telling his beads, went marching along by the side of the two ensign-bearers and their guard, for all the world like a little boat by the side of a big ship. Suddenly Lamotte inquired of him whither he was going.
“Sir Captain,” answered Ulenspiegel, who was growing hungry, “you must know that I am one that has committed a grievous sin, for which I have been condemned by the Chapter of Notre Dame to journey to Rome on foot and to ask pardon there from the Holy Father. This he has granted, and now I am shriven and suffered to return to my own country on the one condition that I am to preach the Holy Mysteries to whatsoever soldiers I may encounter on the way; and they for their part are enjoined to give me bread and wine in return for my preaching. And thus by my sermons do I sustain my wretched life. Would you now give me permission to fulfil my vow at the next halt?”
“I will,” said Monsieur de Lamotte.
After this, Ulenspiegel began to mingle with the Walloons and Flemings in right brotherly fashion, but all the time he kept fingering those letters which he kept concealed under his doublet. And the girls began to cry out to him:
“Come hither, handsome pilgrim, come hither and show us the strength of your pilgrim’s oyster-shells!”
And Ulenspiegel drew nigh to them with modest mien, and said:
“O my sisters in God, pray you do not make mock of the poor pilgrim that wendeth up hill and down dale preaching ever the Holy Faith to the soldiers.”
But with his eyes he feasted himself upon the sight of their sweet charms. And the wanton girls, thrusting their lively faces betwixt the canvas curtains of the wagons, cried out to him yet the more:
“Surely you are too young a man to go preaching to soldiers? Climb up into our wagon and we will teach thee more gentle subjects of conversation!”
And right willingly would Ulenspiegel have done as they bade him, but he dared not, by reason of the letters which he carried. And already two of the girls were leaning out of the wagon trying to hoist him up with their white, round arms. But the sergeant was jealous.
“Be off with you, or else I’ll off with your head!” he threatened.
So Ulenspiegel removed himself away, but not without a sly look behind him at the fresh young beauty of those joysome girls, all golden in the sun which now shone brightly.
They came at last to Berchem, where Philip de Lannoy, Lord of Beauvoir, ordered a halt. For he it was that was in command of the Flemings.
Now in that place was an oak-tree, of medium height, but despoiled of all its branches save one only, a big branch that was broken off short in the middle; for only a month before an Anabaptist had been hanged there by the neck.
Here then the soldiers came to a halt, and the keepers of the canteen came up and began to sell to them bread, wine, beer, with meats of every kind. And to the gay girls they sold all manner of sugared sweets, and castrelins, and almonds, and tartlets, the which when Ulenspiegel saw, he felt hungrier than ever.
All at once Ulenspiegel climbed up like a monkey into the tree, and seated himself astride on the big branch, seven feet above the ground at the least. And then, when he had given himself a few strokes from his pilgrim’s scourge, he began his sermon, while the soldiers and their gay girls sat round him in a circle.
“It is written,” he began, “that whosoever giveth to the poor, the same lendeth to God. Very well then, O soldiers present here to-day, and you, fair ladies, sweet comrades in love of all these valiant warriors, do you lend now to God. That is to say, give me, I beg you, some of your bread, meat, wine, beer, if you please, and eke your tartlets, and I promise you that God, who is very rich, shall give you back in exchange many pieces of ortolan, rivers of malmsey wine, mountains of sugar-candy, and great pieces of that lovely rystpap which they eat in Paradise from silver spoons.”
Then, changing to a more sorrowful tone, he continued:
“Behold now, with what cruel tortures do I strive to merit pardon for my sins! Will you do nothing to assuage the smarting pain of this scourge by which my back is lacerated till the blood flows?”
“Who is this madman?” cried the soldiers.
“My friends,” answered Ulenspiegel, “I am no madman but one that is repentant even to the point of starvation. For while my soul weeps for its sins, my stomach weeps for want of food. Good soldiers, and you, fair damosels, I see you well provided with ham and goose, with fat sausages and wine and beer and all manner of tartlets. Will you not give so much as a morsel to the wandering pilgrim?”
“Yes, yes, we will,” cried the Flemish soldiers, “for the preacher hath a merry countenance.”
And now they all began to throw him chunks of bread as though they had been balls, and Ulenspiegel did not cease from talking and from eating, astride as he was on the branch.
“Hunger,” he said, “makes a man hard of heart and little apt for prayer, yet a piece of ham removes that evil disposition in no time.”
“Look out for your head,” shouted a sergeant as he threw him a bottle half full of wine. Ulenspiegel caught the bottle in mid-air, and began to drink in little gulps, talking all the while.
“If hunger, sharp and raging, is bane to the poor body of a pilgrim, there is something else that is equally harmful to his soul; nothing less than his fear that the generosity of his soldier friends may lead him on to drunkenness. For as a general rule the pilgrim is a right sober fellow, but when, as now, one soldier gives him a slice of ham, and another a bottle of beer, he is mightily afraid lest by drinking thus upon an empty, or nearly empty, stomach he may lose his head.”
And even as he spoke, he caught hold of the leg of a goose that came whizzing to him through the air.
“This truly is a miracle,” he cried, “that one should go fishing in the air for a bird of the field! And see! Hey, presto! it has disappeared, bone and all! Verily, what is it that is greedier than dry sand? I will tell you. A barren woman and a hungry man.”
Scarcely had he spoken than he clapped his hand to his face, for two tartlets had flattened themselves, one on his eye, the other on his cheek. The gay girls who had thrown them laughed aloud, but Ulenspiegel made answer:
“Many thanks, my pretties, many thanks for thus embracing me with this jammy accolade.”
Nevertheless the tartlets had fallen to the ground.
And then suddenly the drums began to beat, the fifes screamed, and the soldiers fell in again.
Monsieur de Beauvoir ordered Ulenspiegel to come down from his tree and to march by the side of the soldiers. Ulenspiegel would willingly have been parted from them by a hundred leagues, for he had gathered from the remarks let fall by certain thin-faced foot-soldiers that he was already under suspicion, and that he ran danger of being arrested for a spy; and if this was so, he knew that they would most certainly search his pockets, and have him hanged when they found the letters which he carried. So in a little while he purposely let himself stumble into the ditch which ran by the wayside, and as he fell he cried out loudly:
“Mercy, soldiers, mercy! My leg is broken, and now I cannot walk any more. You must let me get up into the cart with the girls!”
But to this he knew that the jealous sergeant would never consent.
The girls, meanwhile, cried out from the carts:
“Come, come, jolly pilgrim, and we will succour you, and caress and make much of you, and cure you all in a day.”
“I know it,” said Ulenspiegel, “for a woman’s hand is balm celestial for all and every wound.”
But the jealous sergeant consulted with Monsieur de Lamotte, saying:
“Sir, I suspect that this pilgrim is playing some trick upon us with his tale of a broken leg. All he wants is to have the chance of getting up into the cart with the girls. Order him rather to be left behind on the road.”
“Very well,” answered Monsieur de Lamotte.
So Ulenspiegel was left where he was in the ditch.
Some soldiers, who really believed that his leg was broken, were sorry for him because of his gaiety, and they left with him a two days’ ration of food and wine. And the girls would have got down and run to his assistance, but as this was forbidden they threw him all that was left of their castrelins.
As soon as the soldiers had disappeared in the distance Ulenspiegel, still in his pilgrim’s dress, recovered his liberty, purchased a horse, and rode like the wind by roads and by-paths to Bois-le-Duc.
When he told them the news of the approach of Monsieur de Lamotte, the townspeople flew to arms to the number of eight hundred men, and they chose out their leaders, and sent off Ulenspiegel, disguised as a charcoal-burner, to Antwerp to summon help from Hercule Brederode, surnamed the Toper.
And the soldiers of de Lamotte and de Beauvoir were able to gain no entry into Bois-le-Duc, most vigilant of cities, most valiant in defence.