“The ashes beat upon my heart,” said Ulenspiegel. “Word of a soldier, ’tis word of gold.”
“Who then,” said they, “would by excommunication have put the country under the ban of all nations? Who would have armed against us, had it been possible, earth and sky, God and the devil, and their serried ranks of saints, both male and female? Who made the sacred host bleed with the blood of an ox, who made wooden statues weep? Who had the De Profundis sung in the land of our fathers, if not this accursed clergy, these hordes of lazy monks, in order that they might keep their riches, their influence over idol worshippers, and reign over the poor country by ruin, blood, and fire. To the cage with the wolves that rush upon men on earth; to the cage with the hyænas! Long live the Beggar!”
“Word of a soldier, word of gold,” said Ulenspiegel.
The next day a message came from Messire de Lumey, with orders to transfer from Gorcum to Briele, where the admiral was, the nineteen monks that were prisoners.
“They will be hanged,” said Captain Marin to Ulenspiegel.
“Not while I am alive,” replied he.
“My son,” said Lamme, “speak not thus to Messire de Lumey. He is fierce, and will hang thee with them without mercy.”
“I shall speak according to the truth,” replied Ulenspiegel; “word of a soldier, word of gold.”
“If thou canst save them,” said Marin, “take their boat to Briele. Take with thee Rochus the pilot and thy friend Lamme if thou wilt.”
“I do wish it,” answered Ulenspiegel.