"It was a fearful vision," said William, "and maybe it was but some distempered fancy. Yet," he added, with sudden gravity, "if honour called, the House of Nassau would make even the sacrifice you saw prefigured."
He smiled at the skryer in the fashion which made all men his friends, and hastened away to the festivals at the town hall.
Again the city belfries rocked with the ringing of the joy-bells, again the summer night was lit with splendid illuminations, and all the sweet languor of this rich season of the year was blended with the magnificence of princely rejoicings.
The young grandee crossing the town square lifted his eyes to the stars and gazed at those three which form a diamond sword in the heavens.
CHAPTER VII
BRUSSELS
After the third day of tourney had completed the marriage festivities, the Prince of Orange, his bride, and their train—swelled now by Anne's attendants—set out for Brussels.
Vanderlinden was among the magnificent assembly who wished them God-speed, and he found occasion to hand Rénèe le Meung a charm in the shape of the figure seven cut in jade and set with little studs of gold. This would, he said, keep her from harm while she resided in Brussels, for seven was the lucky number of that city which was under the direct influence of the seven planets, and owned seven churches, seven gates, and seven senators.
Rénèe thanked him with tears in her eyes and a sad smile on her lips as she turned to leave the land that had been a refuge, even if in exile, and set her face towards her own country which was so full of peril for her and contained unutterable memories.
Already, from those in the Prince's train and from such Saxons as had been in Brussels, she had heard much of the state of affairs in the Low Countries. The Inquisition, which the late Emperor had established in the Netherlands, had always been resisted, notably in Brabant (into two of the provinces it had never been introduced), with such effect that, though an avowed heretic (as was Rénèe's father) was certain to be apprehended, yet many who were not of the orthodox faith had managed to live quietly and unmolested. Now, however, it was being enforced with great severity by Philip's orders and Granvelle's warm support, and the chief Inquisitor, Peter Titelmann, was performing his office with the ruthlessness and cruelty of Torquemada himself.
Every one even suspected of heresy, anyone who did not bow low enough when the Host passed, anyone who read the Bible or ventured to criticize the priests or preach any contrary doctrines, was at once seized by Titelmann, accused before his secret Tribunal from which there was no appeal, tortured to force a confession, and finally put to death in the most horrid fashion the monks could devise.