“They carried her in from the garden an hour ago; they bled and plastered her, but she died–before she could swallow the wafer–(hush! she was not thinking of holy things, Orsini!)–ten minutes ago—” THE CAMP OUTSIDE NAMUR DON JUAN OF AUSTRIA “Sa Majesté ne résout rien; du moins, on me tient ignorant de ses intentions. Je pousse des cris, mais en vain. Il est clair qu’on nous laisse ici pour y languir jusqu’à notre dernier soupir.” _Don Juan to Mendoza_, _September 16th, 1578_, from “The Camp” outside Namur. “Nos vies sont en jeu et tout que nous demandons, c’est de les perdre avec honneur.” _Don Juan to Philip II._, _September 20th, 1578_, from “The Camp” outside Namur. The Imperial Army, composed of Germans, Walloons and Spanish regiments, was encamped outside Namur, at the juncture of the Sambre and Meuse, where Charles V. had been entrenched when pressed by the forces of Henri II. The Commander of the Army was the son of Charles V., Don Juan of Austria, the hero of Christendom armed against the infidel, the victor of Lepanto, the conqueror of Tunis, blessed by the Pope, a brilliant name in Europe, half-brother of the great King Philip and son of a servant girl, near the throne, of the blood royal, but barred for ever from it, a prince yet linked with peasants; he had blazed very brightly over Europe, the King had flattered him, had caressed him and used him. By the King’s favour he had swept over Italy, Sicily, Africa, a conqueror, almost within touch of a throne; by the King’s favour he had been sent to crush the rebel heretics who were rising against the might of Spain in the Low Countries. And now the King was silent; it seemed as if he meant to abandon Don Juan. Antonio Perez was always at the King’s ear, and he hated Don Juan; Escovedo, the Prince’s Secretary and favourite, was assassinated in the streets of Madrid by order of Perez. When Don Juan heard this news he thought that there was no better end preparing for him and that Perez meant his ruin; the King did not answer his letters, and his glory broke like a bubble. He had been too great, too beloved, too popular; Philip tolerated no rivals. And now he began to be unfortunate; the Prince William of Orange, one time page to Don Juan’s father and now the Captain of Heretics, marched against him with a powerful army; the Duc D’Anjou joined the cause of the rebels, and the Queen of England, Elizabeth Tudor, at last decided to send succours to the rebellious provinces. The forces met; the day of Rynemants was almost a defeat for Don Juan. A haunted, hunted feeling began to possess him; in the brilliant south everything had been right with him; here, in the cursed Low Countries, every step he took seemed a step nearer his grave. The death of Escovedo weighed on him day and night. And the King would not write.