XXXVI
That Sunday there was held at Bruges the Procession of the Holy Blood. Claes told his wife that she and Nele ought to go and see the procession, and that if they did so, it was not impossible they might find Ulenspiegel in the city. As for himself, he would stay behind and look after the cottage and be ready to welcome their pilgrim if he should return.
So the two women went off together. Claes remained at home and sat himself down on the doorstep and gazed into the deserted village street. All was quiet as the grave, except now and again for the crystal sound of the bell of some village church, or, rising and falling with every little gust of wind from Bruges, the far-off music of the carillon and the sound of the guns and fireworks that were being let off in honour of the Holy Blood. But in spite of all these sounds of joy, Claes was filled with sadness, scanning the grey mist that hung over the fields for a sight of his son, and trying to hear his footfall in the jolly rustling of leaves and gay concert of birds as they sang among the trees. Suddenly he noticed a man coming down towards him on the road from Maldeghem. It was a man tall of stature, but it was not Ulenspiegel. And presently Claes saw him come to a stand beside a field of carrots, and bend down to eat of the vegetables as if he were starving for food.
“There’s a hungry man sure,” said Claes to himself.
But after a while the man continued his walk, and passed out of view; to reappear a little later at the corner of the rue Héron. Claes recognized him at once as the messenger who had brought the seven hundred ducats from his brother Josse. He went to meet him, and asked him in.
“Blessed are they that are kind to the wandering traveller,” said the man, and readily accepted the proffered invitation.
Now on the window-ledge of the cottage window lay some bread-crumbs which Soetkin kept ready for the birds of the neighbourhood, who had learnt to come there during the winter for their food. The man took these crumbs and ate them.
“You must be hungry and thirsty,” said Claes.
“Eight days ago was I robbed by thieves,” the man replied, “and since then I have had nothing to eat but the carrots I have found in the fields and roots in the forest.”
“Well then,” said Claes, “I am thinking it is time you had a good round meal.” And so saying he opened the bread-pan. “Look,” he continued, “here is a dishful of peas, and here are eggs, puddings, hams, sausages from Ghent, waterzoey, a hotchpotch of fish. And down below in the cellar there slumbers our good wine from Louvain, made after the manner of Burgundy wine, all clear and red as rubies. Only the glasses are wanting now to rouse it from its sleep. And to crown all, let us put a faggot to the fire. Already I can hear the pudding singing in the grill! And that’s a song of right good cheer, my friend!”
Claes kept turning the puddings, and as he did so he inquired of the stranger whether he had seen his son, Ulenspiegel.
“No,” was the answer.
“Then perhaps you bring me news of my brother?” Claes said, as he placed the puddings, now well grilled, upon the table, together with a ham omelette, some cheese, and two big tankards of gleaming Louvain wine, both red and white.
The man said:
“Your brother Josse has been done to death upon the rack at Sippenaken near to Aix. And all because he was a heretic, and bore arms against the Emperor.”
Claes was like one mad, and he shook all over, for his wrath was great.
“Wicked brutes!” he cried. “O Josse! My poor Josse!”
Then the stranger spoke again, but in a voice that held no sweetness.
“Not in this world, my friend, is to be found just cause either for joy or for sorrow.” And he fell to his food. But after a while he spoke again.
“You must know that I was able to be of some assistance to your brother while he was in prison, by pretending that I was one of his relatives, a peasant from Nieswieler. I am now come hither in obedience to his command that if I was not killed for the Faith like him, I should go to you, and charge you in his name to live in the faith and peace of our Saviour, practising all works of mercy, and educating your son in secret in the law of Christ. ‘That money,’ he said, ‘which I gave to my brother was money taken from the poor and ignorant. Let Claes make use of it in rearing Tyl in the knowledge of God and of His word.’”
And when he had thus spoken, the messenger gave Claes the kiss of peace. And Claes made moan and lamentation, saying:
“Dead upon the rack! Alas! My poor Josse!” And his grief was so great that he could not put it from him. Nevertheless, when he saw that the messenger was consumed with thirst and held out his glass for more wine, Claes poured out again. But he himself ate and drank without pleasure.
Now Soetkin and Nele remained away for seven days; and all this time the messenger stayed beneath the roof of Claes, and every night they heard Katheline howling in her cottage over the way:
“Fire! Fire! Make a hole! My soul wants to get out!”
And Claes went to her, comforting her with gentle words, and afterwards returned to his own house.
At the end of the seven days the messenger departed. Claes offered him money, but he would only accept two caroluses with which to feed himself and find lodging on his way back home.