“Make the inquiry with our cannon,” said Alva, fiercely; adding, with a scornful look at D’Egmont, “timid counsels smack of treason.”
Regarding the Duke with a glance as disdainful as his own, D’Egmont said, “My loyalty to the Emperor has been often approved. His Highness will be better served by prudence than by rashness. There must be some mistake.”
“There can be no mistake, and no explanation ought to be accepted,” cried Alva, yet more fiercely. “The affront is a stain upon the honour of our country, and can only be avenged by the destruction of that insolent fleet. Count D’Egmont is not a Spaniard, and therefore does not feel it.”
“I should regard the matter differently, if I could believe that insult was intended,” rejoined D’Egmont. “But I cannot think so.”
“Here comes the explanation,” said Philip, as the Admiral of Castile approached. “How now, my lord?” he added to him. “What means this interruption? For what reason was that shot fired?”
“Because our topsails were not lowered in deference to the English navy in these narrow seas,” replied the Admiral. “It is the custom to exact this homage to the flag, and Lord Clinton will not abate a jot of his demands. I am come to ascertain your Highness’s pleasure.”
“Pour a broadside into the insolent fellow,” said Alva. “That is the only answer to return consistent with your Highness’s dignity.”
“It is not for me to offer counsel,” said D’Egmont; “but it is better, methinks, to submit to this affront, which, after all, may not be intended as such, than to hazard the loss of a prize that is so nearly gained.”
Philip looked thoughtful for a moment, and then said, in an authoritative tone, “Let the topsails be lowered—in this ship—and throughout the fleet. Since the demand is warranted, we ought to comply with it.”
The Admiral instantly gave the requisite orders to the officers near him, and ere another minute the topsails were lowered, amid the murmurs of the Spanish grandees, whose glowing cheeks and flashing eyes proclaimed their wrath.