Louis remembered him in that last Council at Dillenburg, how he had asked about Brederode, and lamented for his death—he whose own days were so numbered!
The Nassau Count's face hardened; who would next pay toll to the Spanish fury?
Adolphus spoke, scattering his brother's thoughts.
"If they try to cross the swamp, we have them," he said keenly, surveying the verdant treacherous ground.
"Aremberg is Stadtholder here, he must know the country," replied Louis; "if it were a Spanish commander I should have different and better hopes."
"I have good hopes," said Adolphus. He was to-night a little quieter, graver than usual; his fair and youthful face wore an expression of serenity and resolution Louis had not seen there before, but he had never been with his brother on the eve of battle.
Louis was glad he had not spoken of the news from Juliers.
"Aremberg will have good hopes too," he answered lightly. "He despises us and the 'beggars' bitterly enough. Strange how in the old days at Brussels we rode and ate together—we and Meghem, and now come to this!"
"Aremberg is a sick man," said Adolphus. "They say he can hardly sit his horse. I would rather die young than grow to be sick."
A white pigeon and a white butterfly took flight together from the convent wall and flew side by side across the swamp until they were lost in the melting mists of the distance.