"He lies. He does lie! 'Twas I who slew Sparmann that night--Sparmann, the Hollander, who sold himself to your country. I--I--alone did it--but he, this false witness, was there too. Not to slay Sparmann, but that man before you. I lost my hat there in the struggle with him whom I slew; it may be in that deserted house now. But no matter whether it be or not, I demand that you listen to me. I, at least, will speak the truth, since I neither heed nor fear what my fate may be."
[CHAPTER XXXI.]
Half an hour later Stuven's tale had been told; the Court knew that, no matter what else might weigh heavily against the Englishman, at least the murder of the Dutch spy in the pay of the French did not do so.
At once, after startling all in the salle d'armes by his frenzied outcry, Stuven had been bidden to narrate all the incidents of the night in question, while warned that it would be well to speak the absolute truth, since, though nothing could save him from his fate, that might at least save him from torture, from those awful instruments which lay upon the stone floor of the great hall.
But the warning had been received by the man with such scorn and contemptuous utterance that all present recognised that it might well have remained unuttered.
"The truth! My fate!" Stuven had cried from the spot to which he had now been dragged by the soldiers, a spot immediately facing his judges and near to Bevill. "Why should I lie? You have enough against this man already," glancing at Bevill, "to hang him; while, for that thing there," with a second glance at Francbois, "who would lie to save him? And, for my fate--bah! I regret it only that it will prevent me from slaying more renegades whom you and your country buy with your accursed gold."
"Tell what you know," De Violaine said sternly, "and make no reflections on us who hold you in our hands. We can do worse than slay you, should you merit it. Proceed."
Yet as the gallant Frenchman spoke, the loyalist who, in spite of his ruler's own evil-doing and tyranny, served that ruler as he had sworn to do long ere Louis had become the bitter oppressor of those of his own faith, knew that, in his heart, this fellow's rude, stern hatred of traitors and renegades, and those who employed them, was not amazing. Stuven might be, might have become almost, a demoniac in his patriotism and loyalty to the land that bare him, but at least he was noble in comparison with such as Francbois and, perhaps, with such as the dead traitor, Sparmann.
But now Stuven was speaking, partly in his Walloon patois, partly in some sort of French he had acquired--Heaven knew the opportunities had not been wanting during the last cycles of oppression and invasion of the Netherlands by France!--he was telling what he knew, what he had done in Holland's cause.
"It was," Stuven said now, his raw, bruised face bent forward towards the members of the Court, his eyes gleaming red as he spoke, his raucous voice made almost impressive by the intensity of his passion, "at St. Trond I first attempted to slay the spy--ach!" and he spat on the ground--"the traitor. At St. Trond where I learned who and what he was, by overhearing this man, this Englishman, tell another. And--and--I swore to kill him then--or later; some day, for sure. That night I failed, even though waiting for him, having him in my hand. I struck not deep enough, and, ere I could strike again, the patrol came by. I missed his heart by an inch or so; I--I had done no more than wound him in the shoulder. No matter, I told myself; I would not fail next time.