“Ah! This war—will it never end? Must we live for ever thus, in the midst of blood and tears?”
“Let us seek the Seven,” said Ulenspiegel. “The hour of deliverance is at hand.”
XXXIV
It was the season of harvest. The air was heavy, the wind warm. They that gathered the harvest were able now to reap at their ease, under a free sky and from a free soil, the corn they had sown.
Frise, Drenthe, Overyssel, Gueldre, Utrecht, Noord Brabant, Noord and Zuid Holland; Walcheren, Noord and Zuid Beveland; Duiveland and Schouwen which together make up Zeeland; the sea-bordering lands to the north from Knokke to Helder; the isles of Texel, Vlieland, Ameland, and Schiermonik Oog—all were being delivered from the Spanish yoke, from the Eastern Scheldt to the Oost Ems. And Maurice, the son of William the Silent, was continuing the war.
Ulenspiegel and Nele kept still their youthfulness, their strength and their beauty, for the Love and the Spirit of Flanders never grow old. And they lived happily at the Tower of Neere, waiting for that day when, after so many cruel trials, they would be able to breathe the breath of liberty upon their native land of Belgium.
Ulenspiegel had asked to be made governor and guardian of the Tower. For he had, so he said, the eyes of an eagle and the ears of a hare, and so he would be able to see at once if the Spaniard ever dared to show himself again in the lands that had been delivered from his yoke. Then quickly would he sound the wacharm, the alarm-bell as we call it in our tongue.
To this request the magistrate consented, and in virtue of the good service he had rendered, Ulenspiegel was allowed a florin every day, two pints of beer, a ration of beans, cheese, biscuits, and three pounds of beef weekly.
And so did Ulenspiegel and Nele live on the Tower together very happily, having joy to see in the distance the free isles of Zeeland, and near at hand the woods and castles and fortresses, and the armed ships of the Beggarmen that guarded the coast.