“No longer do the ashes beat upon your heart,” they told him. “Hear you not the souls of the dead that cry for vengeance?”
“The ashes beat upon my heart,” said Ulenspiegel. “Parole de soldat, c’est parole d’or.”
The next day a message arrived from Messire de Lumey to the effect that the nineteen monks were to be brought as prisoners from Gorcum to La Brièle where the admiral was then stationed.
“They will be hanged,” said Captain Marin to Ulenspiegel.
“Not as long as I am alive,” said Ulenspiegel.
“My son,” said Lamme, “you must not speak in this way to Messire de Lumey. He is a stern man, and will have you hanged as well as the monks if you are not careful.”
“I shall tell him the truth,” answered Ulenspiegel. “Parole de soldat, c’est parole d’or.”
“If you think that you can save them,” said Marin, “I will give you permission to go with them by ship to La Brièle. Take Rochus with you as pilot, and your friend Lamme if you please as well.”
The ship was moored by the quay side, and the nineteen monks were taken aboard. Rochus took charge of the helm, while Ulenspiegel and Lamme placed themselves at the bow. Certain vagabond soldiers who had joined the Beggarmen for the sake of plunder were stationed by the monks, who now began to wax hungry. Ulenspiegel gave them food and drink. Then the sailors began to murmur one to another, saying: “This man is a traitor.” Meanwhile the nineteen monks were seated sanctimoniously in the midst, and they were shivering although the month was July and the sun was shining hot and clear, and a gentle breeze filled the sails of the ship as it glided, heavy and full-bellied, over the green waves.