"We will, and speedily." And with this, Gerard raised a voice of
astounding volume and power, and shouted, so that the whole street rang:
"HO! PHILIP EARL OF HOLLAND!"
"Are you mad?" cried the porter.
"HERE IS ONE OF YOUR VARLETS DEFIES YOU."
"Hush, Hush!"
"AND WILL NOT LET YOUR GUESTS PASS IN."
"Hush! murder! The duke's there. I'm dead," cried the janitor, quaking.
Then suddenly trying to overpower Gerard's thunder, he shouted, with all
his lungs:
"OPEN THE GATE, YE KNAVES! WAY THERE FOR GERARD ELIASSOEN AND HIS
COMPANY! (the friends go with him!)"
The gate swung open as by magic. Eight soldiers lowered their pikes half
way, and made an arch, under which the victorious three marched in
triumphant. The moment they had passed, the pikes clashed together
horizontally to bar the gateway, and all but pinned an abdominal citizen
that sought to wedge in along with them.
Once passed the guarded portal, a few steps brought the trio upon a
scene of Oriental luxury. The court-yard was laid out in tables loaded
with rich meats, and piled with gorgeous plate. Guests in rich and
various costumes sat beneath a leafy canopy of fresh cut branches
fastened tastefully to golden, silver, and blue silken cords that
traversed the area; and fruits of many hues, including some artificial
ones of gold, silver, and wax, hung pendent, or peeped like fair eyes
among the green leaves of plane-trees and lime-trees. The duke's
minstrels swept their lutes at intervals, and a fountain played red
Burgundy in six jets that met and battled in the air. The evening sun
darted its fires through those bright and purple wine spouts, making
them jets and cascades of molten rubies, then passing on, tinged with
the blood of the grape, shed crimson glories here and there on fair
faces, snowy beards, velvet, satin, jewelled hilts, glowing gold,
gleaming silver, and sparkling glass. Gerard and his friends stood
dazzled, spell bound. Presently a whisper buzzed around them, "Salute
the duke! Salute the duke!" They looked up, and there on high, under the
dais, was their sovereign, bidding them welcome with a kindly wave of
the hand. The men bowed low, and Margaret curtsied with a deep and
graceful obeisance. The duke's hand being up, he gave it another turn,
and pointed the newcomers out to a knot of valets. Instantly seven of
his people, with an obedient start, went headlong at our friends, seated
them at a table, and put fifteen many coloured soups before them, in
little silver bowls, and as many wines in crystal vases.
"Nay, father, let us not eat until we have thanked our good friend,"
said Margaret, now first recovering from all this bustle.
"Girl, he is our guardian angel."
Gerard put his face into his hands.
"Tell me when you have done," said he, "and I will reappear and have my
supper, for I am hungry. I know which of us three is the happiest at
meeting again."
"Me?" inquired Margaret.
"No: guess again."
"Father?"
"No."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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