“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!”