William of Orange spoke for the first time since he had entered the council room.
"There is nothing to be done," he said, "but to obey the mandate of the King."
They all looked at him, half in terror, half in relief, Egmont almost incredulously.
"You!" he exclaimed. "You who were ever so hot against the Inquisition, against religious oppression—you who would leave the very weavers and labourers free to choose their faith?"
"What I have said I maintain—I think you know, Count Egmont, that I maintain my words—but I have said already, at this very Board, all I can say. And now the King's attitude is clear, his commands are definite, his wishes unmistakable—let them be fulfilled."
So saying, the Prince turned his dark eyes on Margaret, and there was an expression of challenge, of reserved strength and judgment in them that caused the Regent to feel doubtful of the support William so calmly offered.
"To obey is to put a match to straw," she said in real terror, "but to refuse is impossible."
"Ay, impossible," said William. He pointed to the dispatches lying before Armenteros on the many-coloured cloth. "There is Philip's mandate. Let it be obeyed."
"We have no excuse to disobey," admitted Hoorne sourly. "But what will the Netherlanders do?"
"What will any of us do?" smiled William. "Let His Majesty's wishes be put in force, and then it will be seen what all will do."