"I’ll let you do anything you wish, Messire, for you would be as fine a soldier as you are a loyal friend. But are you not content with the splendid services which you are rendering to us now? Putting aside mine own life--which mayhap is not worthless--how many times has your warning saved mine and my brother’s troops from surprise attacks? How many times have Noircarmes’ or don Frederic’s urgent appeals for reinforcements failed, through your intervention, to reach the Duke of Alva until our own troops were able to rally? Ah, Messire, believe me! God Himself has chosen you for this work!" "The work of a spy, Monseigneur," said the other not without a touch of bitterness. "Nay! if you call yourself a spy, Messire, then shall the name of ’spy’ be henceforth a name of glory to its wearer, synonymous with the loftiest patriotism and noblest self-sacrifice." He held out his hand to the man with the mask, who bent his tall figure over it in dutiful respect. "You see how well I keep to my share of the compact, Messire. Never once--even whilst we were alone--hath your name escaped my lips." "For which act of graciousness, Monseigneur, I do offer you my humble thanks. May God guard your Highness through every peril! The cause of justice and of liberty rests in your hands." After another deeply respectful bow he finally turned to go. He had reached the entrance of the tent when once more the Prince spoke to him. "When shall I see you again--Leatherface?" he asked cheerily. "When your Highness’ precious life or the safety of your army are in danger," replied the man. "God reward you!" murmured Orange fervently as the man with the mask disappeared into the night. BOOK ONE: BRUSSELS CHAPTER I THE BLOOD COUNCIL I Less than a month later, and tyranny is once more triumphant. Mons has capitulated, Orange has withdrawn his handful of mutinous troops into Holland, Valenciennes has been destroyed and Mechlin--beautiful, gracious, august Mechlin--with her cathedrals and her trade-halls, her ancient monuments of art and civilisation has been given over for three days to the lust and rapine of Spanish soldiery! Three whole days! E’en now we think on those days and shudder--shudder at what we know, at what the chroniclers have told us, the sacking of churches, the pillaging of monasteries, the massacre of peaceful, harmless citizens! Three whole days during which the worst demons that infest hell itself, the worst demons that inspire the hideous passions of men--greed, revenge and cruelty--were let loose upon the stately city whose sole offence had been that she had for twenty-four hours harboured Orange and his troops within her gates and closed them against the tyrant’s soldiery!