“Nothing to do with me?” cried Ulrich.
“Is he out of his senses? What sin have I committed, what does he....”
“He knows that you are Navarrete, the Eletto of Herenthals, the conqueror of Aalst, and therefore....”
“Therefore?”
“Why of course. You see, Ulrich, when a man becomes famous like you, he is known for a long distance, everything he does makes a great hue and cry, and echo repeats it in every alley.”
“To my honor before God and man.”
“Before God? Perhaps so; certainly before the Spaniards. As for me—I was with the squadron myself, I call you a brave soldier; but—no offence—you have behaved ill in this country. The Netherlanders are human beings too.”
“They are rebels, recreant heretics.”
“Take care, or you will revile your own father. His faith has been shaken. A preacher, whom he met on his flight here, in some tavern, led him astray by inducing him to read the bible. Many things the Church condemns are sacred to him. He thinks the Netherlanders a free, noble nation. Your King Philip he considers a tyrant, oppressor, and ruthless destroyer. You who have served him and Alba—are in his eyes; but I will not wound you....”
“What are we, I will hear.”