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
He paused a while, then went on: “I think also, cousin, that being,
they tell me, unaffianced, you will learn to love, and not in vain,
that dear child of mine, whom I leave in your father’s keeping and in
yours. More, since time is short and we shall never meet again, I say
to you plainly, that the thought is pleasing to me, young cousin Foy,
for I have a good report of you and like your blood and looks. Remember
always, however dark may be your sky, that before he passed to doom
Hendrik Brant had this vision concerning you and the daughter whom he
loves, and whom you will learn to love as do all who know her. Remember
also that priceless things are not lightly won, and do not woo her for
her fortune, since, I tell you, this belongs not to her but to our
people and our cause, and when the hour comes, for them it must be
used.”
Foy listened, wondering, but he made no answer, for he knew not what to
say. Yet now, on the edge of his first great adventure, these words
were comfortable to him who had found already that Elsa’s eyes were
bright. Brant next turned towards Martin, but that worthy shook his red
head and stepped back a pace.
“Thank you kindly, master,” he said, “but I will do without the
prophecies, which, good or ill, are things that fasten upon a man’s
mind. Once an astrologer cast my nativity, and foretold that I should
be drowned before I was twenty-five. I wasn’t, but, my faith! the miles
which I have walked round to bridges on account of that astrologer.”
Brant smiled. “I have no foresight concerning you, good friend, except
that I judge your arm will be always strong in battle; that you will
love your masters well, and use your might to avenge the cause of God’s
slaughtered saints upon their murderers.”
Martin nodded his head vigorously, and fumbled at the handle of the
sword Silence, while Brant went on:
“Friend, you have entered on a dangerous quarrel on behalf of me and
mine, and if you live through it you will have earned high pay.”
Then he went to the table, and, taking writing materials, he wrote as
follows: “To the Heer Dirk van Goorl and his heirs, the executors of my
will, and the holders of my fortune, which is to be used as God shall
show them. This is to certify that in payment of this night’s work
Martin, called the Red, the servant of the said Dirk van Goorl, or
those heirs whom he may appoint, is entitled to a sum of five thousand
florins, and I constitute such sum a first charge upon my estate, to
whatever purpose they may put it in their discretion.” This document he
dated, signed, and caused the pilot Hans to sign also as a witness.
Then he gave it to Martin, who thanked him by touching his forehead,
remarking at the same time—
“After all, fighting is not a bad trade if you only stick to it long
enough. Five thousand florins! I never thought to earn so much.”
“You haven’t got it yet,” interrupted Foy. “And now, what are you going
to do with that paper?”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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