In the library the Prince was writing his farewell letters to Egmont and Hoorne; in her chamber Anne lay prostrate and sullen on her huge brocaded bed; in all the rooms the servants and attendants worked, packing up the furniture and household goods.
There was much that had to be left behind. There was much that had been utterly abandoned, as the greater part of the rich appointments of the gorgeous Brussels hôtel, and it was but a modest train that started on the morrow for Cleves, the first stage of the journey.
But as they proceeded their number was continually swelled by crowds of fugitives and refugees who threw themselves on the protection of the Prince of Orange, and fled from the coming of Alva, whose name was beginning to sound over the provinces like the sound of a curse, and whose shadow was flung dark before him, like the shadow of death.
CHAPTER XIV
PHILIP'S AVENGERS
From Carthagena to Genoa, hence to San Ambrosio, over the Alps to Mont Cenis, through Savoy, Burgundy, and Louvain came the army of the Duke of Alva, watched by a French army, watched by a Swiss army, taking no heed of either, steadily pursuing their way to the rebellious provinces.
At every stopping-place they were met by messages from the Duchess, entreating them to stay, saying their coming would unchain a war of religion, protesting against this coming of an armed force into a country already quieted by pacific means. Two motives influenced Margaret in these protestations: she was indignant at being superseded by Alva, after her long and bitter toils in the service of her brother had at last met with some success; and now, at the final issue, she was frightened at what putting the provinces under Spanish soldiers might mean. She even wrote to Philip expressing her opinion of the fatal consequences likely to follow Alva's invasion.
But the King took no notice of these complaints, and Alva only smiled at the letters of an agitated woman who was suddenly trying to quench the flame she had so recklessly fanned, and continued his steady march towards the Netherlands.
On a hot night in the middle of August a charcoal-burner, who lived in the forest of Thionville on the frontier between Luxemburg and the Netherlands, was roused by sounds unusual indeed in that solitude, and creeping out of his bed he came out into the moonlight, his frightened family behind him, and, hiding behind the thick trees, gazed down on to the road—a mere narrow defile that ran through the immense forest, which on one side sloped away and on the other rose into the ledge where the poor peasant hid.
It was a most gorgeous night, the moon hung like a plate of soft gold in the deep purple heavens and shed a radiance, too warm for silver, through the close branches of the stately trees, in full summer luxuriance, that spread to right and left, before and behind, on all sides bounding the vision.
The air was warm but not oppressive, now and then a little ripple of wind shook the undergrowth, the brambles, the daisies, the poppies, the foxgloves, and the thick fragrant grasses. The stillness had been complete, but now it was broken by the ever increasing sound of the tramp of feet and the jingling of harness; and soon the vanguard of Alva's army was revealed.