XXXVIII
The news spread quickly through the neighbourhood that a man had been taken prisoner on a charge of heresy, and that the inquisitor Titelman, Dean of Renaix, surnamed the Inquisitor without Pity, had been appointed judge. Now at this time Ulenspiegel was living at Koolkerke, in the intimate favour of a farmer’s widow, a sweet and gentle person who refused him nothing of what was hers to give. He was very happy there, petted and made much of, until one day a treacherous rival, an alderman of the village, lay in wait for him early in the morning when he was coming out of the tavern, and would have beaten him with a wooden club. But Ulenspiegel, thinking to cool his rival’s anger, threw him into a duck-pond that was full of water, and the alderman scrambled out as best he could, green as a toad and dripping like a sponge.
As a result of this mighty deed Ulenspiegel found it convenient to depart from Koolkerke, and off he went to Damme as fast as his legs would carry him, fearing the vengeance of the alderman.
The night fell cold, and Ulenspiegel ran quickly. For he was longing to be home again, and already he saw in imagination Nele sewing by the fire, Soetkin getting ready the supper, Claes binding up his sticks, and Schnouffius gnawing at a bone.
A tramping pedlar met him on the road and asked him whither he was off to so fast and at that time of night.
“To my home in Damme,” Ulenspiegel told him.
The tramp said:
“That town is no longer safe. They are arresting the Reformers there.” And he passed on.
Presently Ulenspiegel arrived at the inn of the Roode Schildt and went in for a glass of dobbel kuyt. The innkeeper said to him:
“Are you not the son of Claes?”
“I am,” said Ulenspiegel.
“Make haste then,” said the innkeeper, “for the hour of evil fortune has sounded for your father.”
Ulenspiegel asked him what he meant by these words, and the innkeeper told him that he would know soon enough. So Ulenspiegel left the inn and continued on his way, running apace.
When he arrived at the outskirts of Damme, the dogs that stood by the doorways came running round his legs, jumping up at him, yelping and barking. Hearing this noise, the women also came out of their houses, and when they saw who it was they all began talking at once.
“Whence come you?” they cried. “And have you any news of your father? And do you know where your mother is? Is she in prison too? Alas! Heaven send they do not bring him to the stake!”
Ulenspiegel ran on faster than ever. He met Nele.
“Tyl,” she said, “you must not go home. They have set guards in our house in the name of His Majesty.”
Ulenspiegel stopped running.
“Nele,” he said, “is it true that Claes, my father, is in prison?”
“It is true,” Nele said, “and Soetkin sits weeping at the gaol door.”
Then the heart of the prodigal son swelled with grief, and he said: “I must go to them.”
“No,” said Nele. “First you must do what Claes told me, just before he was taken away. ‘Look to the money,’ he said, ‘it is hidden at the back of the grate. You must make sure of that first of everything, for it is the inheritance of poor Soetkin.’”
But Ulenspiegel would not hear aught and ran on quickly to the gaol. There he found Soetkin sitting at the gate. She embraced him with many tears, and they cried on one another’s neck.
Knowing that they were there, the populace began to crowd in front of the prison. Then the sergeants arrived and told Soetkin and Ulenspiegel that they were to go away at once. So mother and son returned to Nele’s cottage, which was next door to their own, and was being guarded by one of the foot-soldiers who had been sent for from Bruges in case there might be trouble during the trial and execution of Claes. For it was well known that the people of Damme loved him exceedingly.
The soldier was sitting on the pavement in front of the door, draining the last drops of brandy from a flask. Finding it was all gone he threw the flask away and was amusing himself by dislodging the stones on the path with the point of his dagger.
Soetkin went in to Katheline, crying most bitterly.
But Katheline said: “Fire! Fire! Make a hole! My soul wants to get out!” And she kept wagging her head.