Even as Guy takes from him a small package carefully sealed up in parchment cover, the door is thrown open, and Tresslong, De Ryk, and the Gueux officers enter.
“It is time the gallows should bear its fruit!” cries the admiral.
“And you have no mercy?” says the Italian.
“None to the confidant of Alva. We give you your master’s mercy!”
Then they seize him and drag him out, he desperately crying: “Give me the death of a gentleman—not the gallows, but the sword. I am as noble as Egmont and [[131]]Horn—I will have death by the sword, the noble’s death.”
But this mention of Egmont and Horn, the two murdered chiefs of the Netherland nobility, produces rage not consideration, and Paciotto is forced out on to the square facing the town hall. Here he looks up at the ladder standing against the gallows, upon which already the two officers who had accompanied him dangle; then putting despairing eyes on Chester, murmurs: “Remember, avenge me!”
So, in the midst of all that laughing, jeering gang of Beggars of the Sea, some gazing at him from the crowded square, others for better view climbing the riggings of their ships, that are but half a hundred yards away, most of them habited as monks and nuns, in fantastic garments, the spoil of the nunnery at Briel, Pedro Paciotto, engineer and man of science, gallant and man of war, steps up the ladder, a crucifix upon his lips, and though he is hung like a dog, dies like a gentleman and a Catholic.
But Guy scarce sees the convulsed limbs and dying agony. His eyes have before them only the heaping gold of Alva, the taxes of the Netherlands, the mighty treasures of the father that he will make his daughter’s wedding dower.