V
Last night it had been cried at the doorway of the Townhall that Madam, the wife of the Emperor Charles, being great with child, all men must pray for her speedy delivery.
Katheline came to Claes’s house all trembling.
“What aileth thee, gossip?” asked the goodman.
“Alas me!” she replied, and spoke brokenly. “Last night, spectres cutting down men as reapers mow the grass. Girl children buried quick! The hangman danced on the corpse——Stone sweating blood nine months, broken this night.”
“Have pity upon us,” groaned Soetkin, “Lord God, have pity: ’tis a black foreboding for the land of Flanders.”
“Sawest thou that with thine eyes or in a dream?” asked Claes.
“With mine own eyes,” said Katheline.
All pale and weeping Katheline spake again: