Lysbeth, a Tale of the DutchHaggard, H. Rider (Henry Rider)
History
Lysbeth, a Tale of the Dutch
Haggard, H. Rider (Henry Rider)
Netherlands -- History -- House of Habsburg, 1477-1556 -- Fiction
“Therefore, if you love me, and hold that I have been a good friend to
you, send your son Foy with one other strong and trusted man—your
Frisian servant, Martin, if possible—on the morrow after you receive
this. When night falls he should have been in The Hague some hours, and
have refreshed himself, but let him not come near me or my house. Half
an hour after sunset let him, followed by his serving man, walk up and
down the right side of the Broad Street in The Hague, as though seeking
adventures, till a girl, also followed by a servant, pushes up against
him as if on purpose, and whispers in his ear, ‘Are you from Leyden,
sweetheart?’ Then he must say ‘Yes,’ and accompany her till he comes to
a place where he will learn what must be done and how to do it. Above
all, he must follow no woman who may accost him and does not repeat
these words. The girl who addresses him will be short, dark, pretty,
and gaily dressed, with a red bow upon her left shoulder. But let him
not be misled by look or dress unless she speaks the words.
“If he reaches England or Leyden safely with the stuff let him hide it
for the present, friend, till your heart tells you it is needed. I care
not where, nor do I wish to know, for if I knew, flesh and blood are
weak, and I might give up the secret when they stretch me on the rack.
“Already you have my will sent to you three months ago, and enclosed in
it a list of goods. Open it now and you will find that under it my
possessions pass to you and your heirs absolutely as my executors, for
such especial trusts and purposes as are set out therein. Elsa has been
ailing, and it is known that the leech has ordered her a change.
Therefore her journey to Leyden will excite no wonder, neither, or so I
hope, will even Ramiro guess that I should enclose a letter such as
this in so frail a casket. Still, there is danger, for spies are many,
but having no choice, and my need being urgent, I must take the risks.
If the paper is seized they cannot read it, for they will never make
out the cypher, since, even did they know of them, no copies of our
books can be found in Holland. Moreover, were this writing all plain
Dutch or Spanish, it tells nothing of the whereabouts of the treasure,
of its destination, or of the purpose to which it is dedicate. Lastly,
should any Spaniard chance to find that wealth, it will vanish, and,
mayhap, he with it.”
“What can he mean by that?” interrupted Foy.
“I know not,” answered Dirk. “My cousin Brant is not a person who
speaks at random, so perhaps we have misinterpreted the passage.” Then
he went on reading:
“Now I have done with the pelf, which must take its chance. Only, I
pray you—I trust it to your honour and to your love of an old friend to
bury it, burn it, cast it to the four winds of heaven before you suffer
a Spaniard to touch a gem or a piece of gold.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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