XV
William the Silent, with his army, was at the gates of Liége. But before crossing the Meuse he made sundry marches and counter-marches, leading the Duke astray, for all his vigilance.
Ulenspiegel applied himself most diligently to his duties as a soldier, worked his arquebus most skilfully, and kept his eyes and ears wide open.
Now at that time there arrived in the camp certain gentlemen of Flanders and Brabant, and these lived in friendly fashion with the colonels and captains of the Prince’s following.
But soon there came into being two parties in the camp, who began to dispute one with the other continually, some saying that William was a traitor, others that such accusation was a gross libel on the Prince, and that they who had made it should be forced to eat their words. Suspicion grew and grew like a spot of oil, and at length they came to blows—small companies of six, eight, or a dozen men fighting together in single combat, with all kinds of weapons and sometimes with arquebuses even.
One day the Prince, hearing the noise, came to see what was going on, and walked straight in between the combatants. It chanced that a piece of shot hit his sword and struck it from his side. He stopped the combat, and visited the whole camp, intending to put an end once for all to these combats and to these cries of “Death to William!” “Death to the war!”
Now the day after this adventure, Ulenspiegel had been to the house of a Walloon maiden to sing to her some Flemish love-songs of his. And it was near midnight, and very misty, and Ulenspiegel, being just about to leave the house, thought he heard the cawing of a crow, three times repeated. And the sound came from the door of a cottage close by. And from far off came other cawings, three times repeated, as if in answer. Presently a peasant made his appearance at the doorway of the cottage, and at the same time Ulenspiegel heard steps on the road. Two men came up to the peasant and began to talk to him in the Spanish tongue. The peasant spoke to them, also in Spanish:
“Well? And how goes it?” asked the cottager.
“Well, indeed,” the two men answered. “We have been spreading rumours on behalf of the King, and it is thanks to us that the captains and their soldiers are everywhere suspicious and talking among themselves in this wise:
“‘The Prince, so the gossip goes—is resisting the King for vile ambition and for nothing else. For by this means he thinks to make himself feared so that he may acquire cities and overlordships as the price of peace. For five hundred thousand florins he would leave in the lurch all the brave nobles who have come out to fight for their country. And it is a fact that the Duke has offered him a complete amnesty, and has promised to restore both him and his chief officers in their possessions, if only the Prince will return to the obedience of the King, and will negotiate with him alone.’
“But they that remain faithful to the Prince make answer to us in this wise:
“‘By no means will William have aught to do with the proposals of the Duke. For these are but snares and treachery. For the Prince must surely call to mind what happened to d’Egmont and de Hoorn. And it is well known that the Cardinal de Granville said at Rome, when the two Counts had been taken: “The two gudgeon, verily, have been caught, but the pike has been allowed to escape.” For nothing has been taken while William still remains at large.’”
“Is the camp divided in twain then?” asked the peasant.
“It is,” replied the two men, “and the division grows greater every day. But whom are those letters for?”
Whereupon they all entered into the cottage. A lantern was lit inside, and looking through a crack in the door Ulenspiegel could see them unsealing two letters. These they read with every appearance of enjoyment, and then they all fell to drinking honey-wine. After which the two men came out of the cottage and said to the peasant, still speaking in Spanish:
“The camp split in two, and the Prince captured—that will be worth a dozen glasses, eh?”
“Those men,” said Ulenspiegel to himself, “cannot longer be allowed to live.”
But even now they were disappearing in the thick mist, with the lantern which the peasant had brought for them. The light of the lantern shone out intermittently, as if continually intercepted by some dark body. From this Ulenspiegel concluded that the two men must be walking one behind the other.
He raised his arquebus to his shoulder and fired. Then he saw the lantern raised and lowered several times, as if the man who carried it was looking at his fallen comrade, trying to discover where he had been hit and the nature of the wound.
Yet again did Ulenspiegel raise his arquebus, and then when the lantern began to steady itself and to retreat speedily towards the camp, he fired again. Now the lantern swayed, fell to the ground and went out, leaving all in darkness.
Ulenspiegel ran on to the camp, and there he soon encountered the provost with a number of soldiers who had been awakened by the noise of the firing. Ulenspiegel accosted them, saying: “I am the huntsman. Go you now and find the game.”
“Brave Fleming,” said the provost, “methinks you are a man that knows other ways of talking besides with your tongue.”
“Words of the tongue they are but so much wind,” answered Ulenspiegel. “But words of lead—they know how to find for themselves a lasting habitation in the carcass of a traitor! Come then, follow me.”
And so saying he led them to the place where the two men had fallen. And in very deed the soldiers saw by the light of their lanterns two bodies stretched out on the ground. One was dead, and the other at the last gasp, holding his hand to his heart, and in his hand a letter all crumpled in the agony of death. The soldiers lifted the two bodies, whose clothes clearly showed them to be the bodies of gentlemen, and straightway carried them, still by the light of their lanterns, to the Prince.
Now William was about to hold a council with Frederick of Hollenhausen, the Margrave of Hesse, and other nobles. But the soldiers, who had now been joined by a company of other troopers in green and yellow jackets, stood before the tent, demanding with shouts and cries that the Prince should give them audience.
At length William of Orange came out to them, and the provost began to clear his throat and make other preliminaries for the accusation of Ulenspiegel. But the latter cut in before him, saying:
“My Lord, I had thought to kill two crows, but I have killed two traitors in their stead—two noblemen—belonging to your suite.”
Then he told the story of all that he had seen and heard and done. William did not utter a word, but the two bodies were carefully examined in the presence of Ulenspiegel himself and William the Silent, together with Frederick of Hollenhausen, the Margrave of Hesse, Dietrich of Schoonenbergh, Count Albert of Nassau, the Count de Hoogstraeten, and Antoine de Lailang, Governor of Malines. And the soldiers stood by, with Lamme Goedzak, his great belly all of a tremble. Sealed letters were found on the persons of the deceased gentlemen, which had been sent by Granvelles and Noircames, and engaged the recipients to sow division in the Prince’s entourage, and by that means to diminish his power and to compel him to yield, so that he might ultimately be delivered up to the Duke and beheaded according to his deserts. “The right procedure is,” continued the letter, “to act at first with caution and to use allusive phrases only, so that the army may be led to think that the Prince has already come to a secret understanding with the Duke, for his own advantage. This will arouse the anger of his captains and soldiers, and they will assuredly take him prisoner.” Now as a reward for this service it appeared that notes to the value of some five hundred ducats were being sent them on the Fugger Bank at Antwerp, and they were promised a thousand more as soon as the four hundred thousand ducats which were already on their way from Spain had arrived in Zeeland.
The whole plot having been now unmasked, the Prince turned in silence towards the gentlemen, Lords, and soldiers who stood round him. Many of these men he knew to be suspicious of him already, nevertheless, he pointed at the two bodies without speaking a word, intending by this gesture to reproach them for their mistrust. And at this every one present there exclaimed and shouted aloud:
“Long live the Prince of Orange! The Prince is faithful and true!” And such was their anger that they were desirous to throw the two dead bodies to the dogs; but William forbade them, saying:
“It is not these two poor corpses that deserve to be thrown to the dogs so much as that littleness of mind which must needs be suspicious of the purest intentions.”
And the Lords and soldiers cried out again:
“Long live the Prince! Long live the Prince of Orange, the friend of our country!”
And the sound of their voices was like the noise of thunder threatening injustice. And the Prince pointed to the two corpses and ordered that they should be given Christian burial.
“And I,” demanded Ulenspiegel, “what shall be done to me, faithful and true? If I have done evil let me be beaten, but if good—why then let me be suitably rewarded!”
Then the Prince addressed him, saying:
“This soldier is to receive fifty strokes from the green wood in my presence for having killed two gentlemen without orders, to the contempt of all discipline. At the same time let him receive a reward of thirty florins for having used his eyes and ears to some purpose.”
“My Lord,” answered Ulenspiegel, “give me the thirty florins first, and I shall then be able to support my beating with equanimity.”
“Yes, yes,” murmured Lamme Goedzak, “give him the thirty florins first, and then he will bear the rest with equanimity.”
“One thing more,” said Ulenspiegel, “since my soul is admittedly free from fault, is there any real reason why I must be cleansed with the wood of the oak or washed with the branch of the cherry-tree?”
“No,” murmured Lamme again, “Ulenspiegel surely has no need to be washed or cleansed. For his soul is without stain. Do not wash it, my masters, do not wash it.”
But when Ulenspiegel had received the thirty florins the provost ordered him to give himself up to the Stock-meester.
“Behold, my Lords,” said Lamme, “behold how piteous he looks. There’s no love lost between the hard wood and him—my beloved Ulenspiegel.”
But Ulenspiegel answered:
“Of a truth I love a fine ash-tree in full leaf, growing up towards the sun in all its native verdure, but I agree I loathe like poison these heavy cudgels of wood with their sap still oozing out of them, stripped of their branches and without any leaves or twigs growing thereon, for they are rough to look upon and hard to feel.”
“Are you ready?” demanded the provost.
“Ready?” Ulenspiegel repeated. “Ready for what? Ready to be flogged do you mean? No, I cannot, nor will I, be flogged by you, Mr. Stock-meester. You have a red beard certainly, and your appearance is formidable. Nevertheless, I am sure that you have a kind heart and would have no desire to thrash a poor fellow like me. And now to tell you the truth I should be loath to do such a thing myself, much less to see any one else do it. For the back of a Christian is a sacred thing, as sacred as his breast which holds the lungs, those trusty organs whereby we breathe the goodly air of God. And think how bitter would be your remorse if a too brutal blow from your cudgel should chance to break me in pieces!”
“Make haste,” said the Stock-meester.
“My Lord,” said Ulenspiegel, addressing himself to the Prince, “believe me, there is no need for all this hurry. First of all the wood of the cudgel ought to be allowed to dry. For I have heard that wood while still green is like to communicate a mortal poison to any flesh with which it comes in contact. Would your Highness desire to see me die such an ugly death? My Lord, my back I hold most pitifully at your service. Have it flogged, if you must, with rods and lashed with whips. But unless you wish to see me dead, spare me, I pray you, from the wood while it is still green.”
“Have mercy on him, Prince,” cried my Lords of Hoogstraeten and of Schoonenbergh both together; while the others all began to smile compassionately. Lamme also put in a word of his own, “Have mercy, my Lord. Green wood is poison, neither more nor less than rank poison!”
The Prince said:
“Very well.”
Thereupon Ulenspiegel leapt in the air again and again, and smote Lamme on his belly and compelled him to dance too, saying: “Join me now in praising the good Duke who has delivered me from the green wood.”
And Lamme did his best to dance, but could not very well because of his belly. And Ulenspiegel gave him to eat and to drink as much as he was able.