The First of the English 10 – Gunter · Verses Across
Literature · Romance
The First of the English 10Book 2 · The Secret of the Statue
18
Literature · Romance
The First of the English 10
Book 2 · The Secret of the Statue
GunterEnglish
This matter of ammunition delays Guy in England several days. But the fleet little Dover Lass soon makes the trip to the Netherlands, carrying every inch of canvas she can show, and early in April Chester finds himself once more off the mouth of the Schelde, and sighting the town of Flushing is astounded but delighted to see the yellow, white and blue flag of Orange floating over the place.
“Zounds!” he cries to his first lieutenant, “the Gueux have landed and taken Flushing! There are two vessels sailing in with the flag of Orange at their peaks. Overhaul them and get me the news, Dalton.”
In the course of half an hour the Dover Lass comes alongside the vessels that are commanded by Captain De Ryk of Amsterdam. From him he learns that the Gueux have not only taken Flushing, but have taken Briel, a strongly fortified town upon the island of Voorne, where the Rhine estuary reaches the German ocean. Their success has been the spark to illuminate the patriotism of Holland and the Netherlands. Town after town is declaring for the Prince of Orange as the Staatholder of Philip Second, and against Alva, for curiously enough, such was the respect with which royalty was regarded at that time that Orange still announced himself as the vassal of the Spanish crown, though fighting against its sovereign with all his might of arm and strength of brain.
Curiously enough also the two vessels of De Ryk, having left England somewhat later than the rest of the Gueux, have on board five hundred stout English volunteers, who greet Guy with shouts of Saxon welcome. For Burleigh, pondering upon Elizabeth’s remarks, is anxious for his weazened head, and is now giving every aid in his power to this raid of the Beggars of the Sea.
So the Dover Lass and the two Gueux ships are wafted by light breezes toward Flushing quay. Just as they make landing there, a great commotion arises in the town. Some quarter of an hour before this they have noted a small pinnace with single mast and lateen sail headed from the south, Antwerp-way, pass to the dock before them. From this three gentlemen in very fine clothes and with Spanish appearance have landed laughingly, and strolled up into the town.
Even as De Ryk and Chester step upon the quay, these three come running hurriedly from out the center of the place toward the dock, pursued by such a motley mob as quiet Flushing never saw before. It is as if two hundred priests and nuns, drunk with blood, were after them, for all these monks and nuns are brawny pirates, some having hassocks and cowls upon them, others wearing the robes of nuns. Their leader, fierce Dirk Duyvel himself, is habited as lady abbess, and all are armed to the teeth with pistol and pike or sword and arquebus.
“Down with the murderous Spanish!” cry some. “Hang them up on high, quick!” yell others. “Into the sea with Alva’s butchers!” is the shout of the rest, all this larded with fearful imprecations and terrible Dutch oaths.
Seeing their retreat to their boat cut off by De Ryk’s men, the leader of these three Spaniards comes speeding ahead of his foremost pursuers, and bowing before De Ryk takes off from his finger a gaudy signet ring, and presenting it to the Gueux captain, pants: “I—I surrender to you. I—I did not know this town was in possession of the—the rebels. By this ring guard me from sudden death. I am noble. I can pay a large ransom. I am Alva’s engineer.” He says this anxiously and breathlessly, for the crowd are upon him.
Guy now recognizes him with astonishment, as Paciotto, Alva’s great military engineer, whom he had seen at the Captain General’s side in Antwerp.
“You know me?” Paciotto gasps.
“Too well!” cries the throng, who now have hands on him.
“Too well!” mutters De Ryk, “But I’ll save you from immediate damnation,” and he and Guy and one or two of his officers with drawn swords protect these three men, who in another minute would have been hacked to pieces by the Beggars of the Sea. For these sea rovers, having drunk victory at the Briel, are now drunk with blood also, having requited in kind upon the Spaniard some of the butcheries of the last five years—one or two of the most ferocious eating Castilian heart with gusto and drinking Italian blood con amore. Every one of them has some butchered brother or murdered father or outraged wife to make him as inhuman as his foes. What chance has any officer of Alva’s with such a mob? Guy soon finds Paciotto has not even choice of his manner of death.
While De Ryk and he save the Italian from immediate violence a number of the Gueux have boarded the little Spanish sloop in which he came and butchered the hapless crew with wild shouts of joy and triumph.
A moment after the Italian is dragged to the Raadhuis where Van Tresslong, who commands, is in consultation with the Burgomaster, “Schout” and other officials of the town; most of his captains being with him.
“By our martyrs,” cries the Dutch vice-admiral, “this day is fortunate. Here is one of Alva’s very pets right in our hands—a court-martial for the Italian gentleman!”
“I beg for law of war, William de Blois, Lord of Tresslong,” says Paciotto, quite haughtily, though hope has left his face.
“The same law of war that Alva gave to my murdered brother, when he executed him with seventeen other nobles in the Brussels horse market,” answers the Fleming.
“Yes, justice and mercy,” jeers one of his captains. “The same justice that Alva gave to my father when he cried for quarter at Jemmingen. The same mercy that De Bossu, but two days since, gave at Rotterdam.”
“With such judges I am condemned beforehand,” sighs the Italian, as Van Tresslong and his officers take seats about a drum head.
Then as the court is being sworn the Dutch Vice-Admiral, who has a long head, remarks: “We must make the Burgomaster one of our court. That will nail him to our cause. He will hold Flushing, as he values his own head, against Alva.”
So the Burgomaster, nolens volens, is made a member of the court, and Paciotto is put upon trial for his life.
“Of what do you accuse me?” asks the unfortunate officer. “Of being a loyal subject of your king, Philip of Spain? Of that I plead guilty.”
“Bah!” replies Van Tresslong, “you’re the pet and confidant of Alva, who butchers us. That’s why we’ll have your life. Also, with your Italian engineering art you built for him his stronghold, the citadel of Antwerp.”
“If that deserves death, then execute me,” murmurs the Italian, “but I pray you with the sword.”
“Hold!” cries Guy, who has English sympathy with the under animal in the fight, “As your military counsel I will defend you in this court.”
“Do not waste your words for me, señor,” says the Italian sadly. “These Flemish dogs are licking their chops already for my blood.”
But Guy, unheeding this, goes to pleading for this unfortunate officer of Spain, using at times, in his impulsive way, a vehement eloquence that is so uncomplimentary to Paciotto’s accusers that did the Englishman not wear the Gueux medal himself, and, above all, were he not the man who had given to their hands the four ships loaded with powder and ammunition, Sir Guy Chester himself might not have come scathless from out this council of the Beggars of the Sea.
In spite of Chester’s imprecations and implorings the Gueux officers make very short work of the affair, and in less than five minutes by the ticking Dutch clock that stands facing them in the hall, they condemn the Italian engineer not to death with the sword, but to the dog’s death—by the noose.
And sentence being given, the Italian cries suddenly: “How long is it since Flushing has been in danger of falling into your hands?”
“About three days,” says a Gueux captain. “But what does that matter to you, who are to die in three minutes?”
At this Paciotto, smiting his hands together and his eyes flashing with anger even above their despair, utters these astounding words:
“My God! Sacrificed. Holy Virgin! Killed for my secret!” And suddenly whispers to Guy: “You are the First of the English?”
“Yes.”
“Ask the Dutch officers that I may have ten minutes in which to make my peace with God, alone with you, who, from the rosary you wear upon your neck, must be of my faith.”
This appeal is answered by Van Tresslong with a surly “Yes!”
Whereupon Paciotto, his hands even now bound with the ligatures of execution, is thrust into a little adjoining room from which there is no escape, and into which, moved by the Italian’s pleading eyes, and, perchance, prompted by some latent curiosity, Chester follows him.
“Close the door,” the Italian whispers. Then he bursts out still under his breath: “You are the only one who has been my friend in this my last hour on earth. Behold my reward! I can give you a fighting chance to become one of the magnates of this earth.”
“How?”
But the Italian scarcely answers this, muttering: “Sacrificed! The shadow of death is over me—put there by him of Alva, who never spares what it is his interest to destroy. This town threatened—for three days! He knew of this outbreak of the Gueux—that Flushing would be a place of extreme danger, and sent me here ostensibly to complete the fortifications, but really that his secret should pass away—with my life. For I am the only man in the Netherlands who knows it.” Then he breaks out suddenly, whispering hoarsely: “You, I am told, are one who cares as nothing for his life. Would you, for enormous wealth, avenge me of my enemy, though at a desperate risk?”
“For enormous wealth I would risk my life—nay, almost my soul,” gasps Guy, whose great thought, since he has won the love of Viceroy’s daughter, has been to gain station, power and gold enough to give her Viceroy’s state and pomp.
“Then, First of the English, you are the man fitted for my post-mortem reckoning with Alva. The man who dared to visit Antwerp; I remember you there—looking straight in the Viceroy’s face—his proclamation for your head posted on the wall above you. You are the man to give me vengeance. Listen to the secret of Alva’s statue.”
“Alva’s statue!” cries Guy, recollection of Oliver’s words coming to him.
“Hush! Don’t interrupt me. My time is very short. This great statue the Duke has erected to his honor is partly for another purpose! To protect the treasure he has gathered from his tenth penny tax, that he means to transport to Spain for his own use, honor and profit. The pedestal—”
“Ah, I remember. The pedestal of unusual size—it contains the booty of the Netherlands,” whispers Chester.
“Bah! No, Alva is too astute for that. The statue and its pedestal contain nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“And yet,” says the Italian, “the statue is the guardian of Alva’s treasure.”
“How?”
“Hearken. While altering and rebuilding the Citadel of Antwerp, I, as chief engineer, discovered an old vaulted way made for purposes of sally. It ran from the great Bastion of the Duke under the moat to a place of egress in the city itself, a house just beyond the Esplanade. Under secret instructions from the Captain-General, I excavated at the Citadel end of this passage in the solid rock thirty feet under ground a chamber. This chamber holds the treasures of Alva. The earth and solid masonry of the great bastion of the Duke are heaped upon it. It would take weeks of labor to dig down from the Citadel to obtain it, and explosives enough to blow up the bastion. Therefore it cannot be reached from the Citadel. But from the town it is accessible, though impossible to one not knowing its secret, for it has been guarded by every art the mechanism of Giovanni Alfriedo, an ingenious Italian imported from Venice, could give to its defense. Yet it is easy and quick of access to those who have the secret, and I am the only man save Alva that knows it now—Giovanni himself being slain by pirates on his return voyage to Venice, perchance by order and design.”
“Thy time is up!” shouts Van Tresslong, thundering on the door.
“Ten minutes more for the soul of a dying man,” murmurs Paciotto.
“Yes, time that he may die in his church,” cries Guy, desperate now for Alva’s secret.
So a few minutes more are given to them, not for mercy, but to find a hangman. For the town executioner is absent at Middelburg and word of this being now brought to Van Tresslong he raises his voice in the crowd in front of the town hall, proclaiming largess for a hangman.
But none wish to undertake this degrading office—save one man, who being told Paciotto is a Spaniard, cries: “I’ll do the job, I’ll hang the Spanish forever! Only I must have liberty to attack and kill anyone who scorns me for having been a Spaniard’s hangman,” and makes his preparations with noose and ladder.
While they are finding executioner for him, Paciotto rapidly whispers in Guy’s ear: “The entrance to the passage is from a house now occupied by an old deaf and dumb woman, Señora Sebastian. She knows nothing about it, the place having been rented to her at little stipend after the work had been completed. You take up four stones in the center of the cellar and it shows you the passageway. But this vaulted gallery at two places before you come to the moat, and one right under the fosse itself, is guarded by iron doors of strength sufficient to resist anything but barrels of gunpowder. Each of these doors is opened by ingenious locks. According to the device of this skilled mechanic, each of these locks requires three peculiar keys that must be used in a certain varying order. Employed outside of this rotation the locks will yield no vantage to the keys. Any attempt to blow down the iron gates with powder would destroy the passageway itself, and let the Schelde in upon and drown you.”
“But what has the statue to do with this?” whispers Guy.
“Ah! that is Alva’s cunning joke upon his turbulent soldiery. By the Captain General’s mystery in regard to it half the mercenaries of his Antwerp garrison swear that the statue itself is the storehouse of Alva’s gold. This is by his design. He does not fear the citizens taking his treasure, but that his own soldiers, unpaid for years, may break into open mutiny. The first thing they would seize would be the booty of their commander. Therefore the first thing they would break into for his gold would be the pedestal of his statue. That done, the vaulted passageway from the town would be impassable to anything save fish, for the statue is so contrived that if disturbed on its base a sluice gate is opened and the waters of the moat flood the only path to Alva’s treasure. After that, even if they discovered the true hiding place of his gold, it would be a month before the mercenaries could obtain it by mining and blowing up the Bastion of the Duke. Within that month the mutiny would certainly be put down and the treasure saved.”
“But the keys?” whispers Guy impatiently, for the rising murmurs of the crowd outside shows him time is precious.
“I have here—open my doublet and cut away the lining,” whispers Paciotto, “for my hands are bound—drafts of each key with its number, from which you can have them made, besides an account of how they should be used; also a drawing of the excavation leading to the treasure of the Duke. Give me vengeance on him—you mean to try, I can see it in your face—if you succeed, a rare surprise for him of Alva. How he will rave when in his empty treasure house he finds no plunder. All his tenth penny tax gone; the thing for which he has imperilled his favor with the king, the thing for which he has crushed these Netherlands to the earth. No gold for Alva—no gold—ho! ho!—ha! ha!—he! he!” and bursts into hideous despairing chuckle—his last laugh on earth.
Even as Guy takes from him a small package carefully sealed up in parchment cover, the door is thrown open, and Tresslong, De Ryk, and the Gueux officers enter.
“It is time the gallows should bear its fruit!” cries the admiral.
“And you have no mercy?” says the Italian.
“None to the confidant of Alva. We give you your master’s mercy!”
Then they seize him and drag him out, he desperately crying: “Give me the death of a gentleman—not the gallows, but the sword. I am as noble as Egmont and Horn—I will have death by the sword, the noble’s death.”
But this mention of Egmont and Horn, the two murdered chiefs of the Netherland nobility, produces rage not consideration, and Paciotto is forced out on to the square facing the town hall. Here he looks up at the ladder standing against the gallows, upon which already the two officers who had accompanied him dangle; then putting despairing eyes on Chester, murmurs: “Remember, avenge me!”
So, in the midst of all that laughing, jeering gang of Beggars of the Sea, some gazing at him from the crowded square, others for better view climbing the riggings of their ships, that are but half a hundred yards away, most of them habited as monks and nuns, in fantastic garments, the spoil of the nunnery at Briel, Pedro Paciotto, engineer and man of science, gallant and man of war, steps up the ladder, a crucifix upon his lips, and though he is hung like a dog, dies like a gentleman and a Catholic.
But Guy scarce sees the convulsed limbs and dying agony. His eyes have before them only the heaping gold of Alva, the taxes of the Netherlands, the mighty treasures of the father that he will make his daughter’s wedding dower.
