Mary of Burgundy; or, The Revolt of Ghent

by G. P. R. James

"I do! I do! Sir Prevot," replied Ganay, grasping the hand the other held out to him in his thin fingers: "I do! I do, with all my heart!"

"But stay! stay!" cried Maillotin du Bac; "you do not yet know for what. Hark ye, Master Ganay, revenge is sweet to every honourable man. Did you ever hear tell of the Vert Gallant of Hannut? Did you ever hear how he overpowered me by numbers, and disgraced me as a man and a knight? He delivered yon proud Albert Maurice, too, when he was a less worm than he is now. Well, he it was, who, as I tell you, encountered the good Duke of Gueldres, and would have slain him, had not his own foot slipped, or some one dashed him down, and the duke was rescued."

"Well, well, what of him?" cried the druggist; "what has befallen him?"

"Why, he is safe in the prison of the town-house," replied the Prevot, "and shall die after seven days' torture, if I live to the end of them. His fellows, somehow, cut their way through, and got out of the press, every one of them; but he himself was trodden down as he lay, by the people, and was taken up by the burgher guard, half dead, after the crowd dispersed. We shall give him two or three days to recover. There is no use of killing him like a rat caught in a trap, you know, and just knocking his head against the stones, without letting him know why or wherefore. No, no! we must give him time to recover his strength and his senses, or he will die upon the first wheel. But there is more--there is more to be told still," continued the Prevot, rather heated by the wine, and seeing that the other was about to reply. "Who, think you, this famous long-concealed Vert Gallant proves to be at last? Who but the nephew of that old sorcerer, the Lord of Hannut? and, by the holy cross! if ever I live to see quiet times again, that vile, heathenish wizard shall roast in the market-place of Brussels, if there be such a thing as law and religion in the land. I knew it all the time! Bless you, Master Ganay, I saw through it all, from the time I was at the castle. I told the Lord of Imbercourt that his nephew was the brigand leader; you may ask him if I did not--though, by the way, he won't answer, for he is dead--but I told him, nevertheless, that I was sure it was the old man's nephew.--Master Ganay, here's to you!"

Ganay had turned somewhat pale as the other spoke: but he showed no farther sign of discomposure; and replied immediately: "His nephew! You must mistake. He has no nephew. He once had a son!" he added, in a voice, the tremulous tone of which the Prevot, whose faculties had not been rendered more pellucid by the wine he had drunk, attributed to the painful remembrance of his own loss--"he once had a son! But the boy died in infancy."

"Nay," replied Maillotin du Bac, "of that I know nothing. All I know is that this youth is his nephew--this Sir Hugh de Mortmar."

"But I tell thee, good friend, it cannot be," rejoined the druggist, somewhat sharply. "No nephew has he. Surely I should know."

"Well, well, 'tis all the same," cried the Prevot. "If not his nephew, he passes as such; and die he shall, after the torture has racked his every limb. Ay, Master Ganay, he shall die," he added, clasping his strong and sinewy hand tight, as if holding some substance which he was determined to let no power on earth wring from his grasp; "he shall die, although your precious President were to give his right hand to save him; and if, out of what he calls his fine feelings, he attempt to repay the good turn the Vert Gallant did him at Hannut, and free him from prison in return, he may chance to stumble at that step himself, and die along with him. I owe him something, too, which I have not forgot. So let him look to it."

Ganay mused for several minutes over the words of his companion, who spoke evidently under the excitement both of passion and drink. The wine, however, had not very deeply affected his discretion; and the moment after, remembering the close connexion between the druggist and Albert Maurice, the Prevot added, "Not that I mean any harm to your friend, Master Ganay, only let him not meddle with my prisoner, that is all. I am sure I have refrained from Seeking any vengeance against him himself, simply because he is your friend; and will not, if he keep his hands from interfering with my affairs."

Still Ganay was silent, and remained musing, with his eyes bent upon the fire, till he perceived that Maillotin du Bac, somewhat discomposed by his companion's taciturnity, and imagining that he had made a blunder in regard to Albert Maurice, was again about to apply to the bowl of spiced wines, as the best means of restoring his confidence and composure. At that moment the druggist, stretching out his hand, caught him gently by the arm, saying, "Stay, stay, Master Prevot, we have both had enough of that for the present; and as we may have many things to speak of which require cool heads, let us refrain till all is settled, and then drink our fill."