Leatherface: A Tale of Old Flanders

  "Will the murdering of helpless prisoners aid your cause, then?"

  "It will at least satisfy our craving for revenge!"

  "Right, right, Balde!" they all exclaimed, "do not heed what van Ryckesays."

  "We will fight to-morrow!"

  "Die to-morrow!" they cried.

  "And blacken your souls to-day!" retorted Mark.

  The tumult grew more wild. Dissension had begun to sow its ugly seedamong these men whom a common danger, united heroism, and courage hadknit so closely together. The grim, silent, majestic determination of awhile ago was giving place slowly to rabid, frenzied calls of hatred, tougly oaths, glowing eyes and faces heated with passion. The presence ofthe dozen elderly patricians and burghers still bare-headed andshoeless, still with the rope around their necks, helped to fan up thepassions which their misfortunes had aroused. For the moment, however,the hot-headed malcontents were still greatly in the minority, but thedanger of dissent, of mutiny was there, and the set expression on thefaces of the leaders, the stern look in Mark van Rycke's eyes testifiedthat they were conscious of its presence.

  IV

  Then it was that right through this tumult which had spread from thebuilding itself to the precincts and even beyond, a woman's cry rang outwith appalling clearness. It was not a cry of terror, rather one ofcommand, but so piercing was it that for the moment every other cry wasstilled: Peter Balde's adherents were silenced, and suddenly over thisvast assembly, wherein but a few seconds ago passions ran riot, therefell a hush--a tension of every nerve, a momentary lull of everyheart-beat as with the prescience of something momentous to which thatwoman's cry was only the presage.

  And in the midst of that sudden hush the cry was heard again--moreclearly this time and closer to the cathedral porch, so that the wordscame quite distinctly:

  "Let me get to him ... take me to your leader ... I must speak with himat once!"

  And like distant thunder, the clamour rose again: men and women shoutedand called; the words: "Spaniard!" and "Spy!" were easilydistinguishable: the crowd could be seen to sway, to be moving like ahuge wave, all in one direction toward the porch: hundreds of facesshowed plainly in the dull grey light as necks were craned to catch aglimpse of the woman who had screamed.

  But evidently with but rare exceptions the crowd was not hostile: thosewho had cried out the word "Spy!" were obviously in the minority. Withdeath looming so near, with deadly danger to every woman in the citywithin sight, every instinct of chivalry toward the weak was at itsgreatest height. Those inside the cathedral could see that the crowdwas parting in order to let two women move along, and that the men inthe forefront elbowed a way for them so that they should not be hinderedon their way. It was the taller of the two women who had uttered thepiteous yet commanding appeal: "Let me go to him!--take me to yourleader!--I must speak with him!"

  She reiterated that appeal now--at the south porch to which she had beenliterally carried by the crowd outside: and here suddenly three stalwartmen belonging to one of the city guilds took, as it were, possession ofher and her companion and with vigorous play of elbows and of stavesforged a way for them both right up to the altar rails. Even whilst inthe west end of the church the enthusiastic tumult around Peter Baldewhich this fresh incident had momentarily stilled, arose with renewedvigour, and the young artisans and apprentices once more took up theircry: "Revenge! Death to all the prisoners!" the woman, who was wrappedup in a long black mantle and hood, fell--panting, exhausted,breathless--almost at Mark van Rycke's feet and murmured hoarsely:

  "Five thousand troops are on their way to Ghent ... they will be herewithin two hours ... save yourselves if you can."

  Her voice hardly rose above a whisper. Mark alone heard every word shesaid; he stooped and placing two fingers under her chin, with a quickand firm gesture he lifted up the woman's head, so that her hood fellback and the light from the east window struck full upon her face andher golden hair.

  "I come straight from the Kasteel," she said, more clearly now, for shewas gradually recovering her breath, "let your friends kill me if theywill ... the Duke of Alva swore a false oath ... a messenger left evenlast night for Dendermonde...."

  "How do you know this?" queried Mark quietly.

  "Grete and I heard the Duke speak of it all with my father just now,"she replied. "He asked for the truce in order to gain time.... Hehopes that the troops from Dendermonde will be here before nightfall ...the guards at the gate-houses are under arms, and three thousand men areinside the Kasteel ready to rush out the moment the troops are insight."

  It was impossible to doubt her story. Those who stood nearest to herpassed it on to their neighbours, and the news travelled like wild-firefrom end to end of the church: "They are on us! Five thousand Spaniardsfrom Dendermonde to annihilate us all!"

  "God have mercy on our souls!"

  "God have mercy on our women and children!"

  Panic seized a great many there; they pushed and scrambled out of thebuilding, running blindly like sheep, and spread the terrible newsthrough the streets, calling loudly to God to save them all: the panicvery naturally spread to the women and children who thronged the streetsat this hour, and to the silent workers who had quietly continued theirwork of burial. Soon all the market squares were filled with shriekingmen, women and children who ran about aimlessly with wild gestures andcries of lamentation. Those who had kept indoors all to-day--eitherfearing the crowds or piously preparing for death--came rushing out tosee what new calamity was threatening them, or whether the supreme hourhad indeed struck for them all.

  Inside the cathedral the cries of revenge were stilled; dulled was thelust to kill. The immense danger which had been forgotten for a momentin that frantic thirst for revenge made its deathly presence felt oncemore. Pallid faces and wide-open, terror-filled eyes were turned towardthe one man whose personality seemed still to radiate the one great rayof hope.

  But just for a moment Mark van Rycke seemed quite oblivious of that waveof sighs and fears which tended toward him now and swept all thought ofmutiny away.

  He was supporting Lenora who was gradually regaining strength andconsciousness: just for a few seconds he allowed tumult and terror toseethe unheeded around him: just for those few seconds he forgot deathand danger, his friends, the world, everything save that Lenora had cometo him at the hour when his heart yearned for her more passionately thanever before, and that she was looking up into his face with eyes thattold so plainly the whole extent of her love for him.

  Only a few seconds, then he handed her over to the gentle care of Fathervan der Schlicht, but as with infinite gentleness he finally releasedhimself from her clinging arms he murmured in her ear: "God reward you,Madonna! With your love as my shield, I feel that I could conquer theuniverse."

  Then he faced the terror-stricken crowd once more.

  V

  "Burghers and artisans of Ghent," he called loudly, "we have two hoursbefore us. The perjured tyrant is bringing five thousand fresh troopsagainst us. If by nightfall we have not conquered, our city is doomedand all of us who have survived, and all our women and children will beslaughtered like sheep."

  "To arms!" cried the leaders: Jan van Migrode and Lievin van Deynse,Pierre Deynoot and the others.

  "To arms!" was echoed by a goodly number of the crowd.

  But a great many were silent--despair had gripped them with its icytalon--the hopelessness of it all had damped their enthusiasm.

  "Five thousand fresh troops," they murmured, "and there are less thanfour thousand of us all told."

  "We cannot conquer," came from Peter Balde's friends at the west end ofthe church, "let us at least take our revenge!"

  "Yes! Revenge! Death to the Walloons!" they cried.

  "Revenge! yes!" exclaimed Mark van Rycke. "Let us be revenged on theliar, the tyrant, the perjurer, let us show him no mercy and extort fromhim by brute force that which he has refused us all
these years--civiland religious freedom."

  "Van Rycke, thou art raving!" broke in the men who stood nearest tohim--some of them his most ardent supporters. "Alva by nightfall willhave three times the numbers we have. The gates will be opened to hisfresh troops."

  "We must seize the Kasteel and the gates before then!" he retorted.

  "How can we? We made several assaults yesterday. We have not enoughmen."

  "We have half an hour wherein to increase their numbers."

  "Thou art raving," they cried.

  "Not one able-bodied man but was fighting yesterday--not half theirnumber knew how to handle pike or lance, musket or crossbow."

  "Then we must find two thousand men who are trained soldiers and knowall that there is to know about fighting. That would make it a two toone fight. Burghers of Ghent, which one of you cannot account for twoSpaniards when the lives of your women and your children depend on thestrength of your arm?"

  "Two thousand men?" The cry came from everywhere--cry of doubt, ofhope, of irony or of defiance.

  "How are we to get them? Where can we get them from?"

  "Come with me and I'll show you!" retorts Mark and he immediately makesfor the door.

  The other leaders stick close to him as one man, as do all those whohave been standing near the altar rails and those who saw him even whenfirst he turned to them all, with eyes glowing with the fire of the mostardent patriotism, with the determination to die if need be, but by God!to try and conquer first!

  It was only those who were in the rear of the crowd or in the sideaisles who did not come immediately under the spell of that magneticpersonality, of that burning enthusiasm which from its lexicon haderased the word "Failure!" but even they were carried off their feet bythe human wave which now swept out of the cathedral--by the southdoor--bearing upon it the group of rebel leaders with Mark's broadshoulders and closely cropped head towering above the others.

  The throng was soon swelled to huge proportions by all those who hadbeen hanging about in the precincts all the afternoon unable to pushtheir way into the crowded edifice. The tumult and the clamour whichthey made--added to the cries of those who were running in terrorthrough the streets--made a pandemonium of sounds which was almosthellish in its awful suggestion of terror, of confusion and of misery.

  But those who still believed in the help of God, those in whom faith inthe justice of their cause was allied with the sublime determination ofmartyrs were content to follow their hero blindly--vaguely marvellingwhat his purpose could be--whilst the malcontents in the rear, rallyinground Peter Balde once more began to murmur of death and of revenge!

  Mark led the crowd across the wide cathedral square to the guild-houseof the armourers--the fine building with the tall, crow-step gables andthe magnificent carved portico to which a double flight of fifteen stonesteps and wrought-iron balustrade gave access. He ran up the steps andstood with his back to the portico fronting the crowd. Every one couldsee him now, from the remotest corners of the square--many had invadedthe houses round, and heads appeared at all the windows.

  "Burghers of Ghent," he called aloud, "we have to conquer or we mustdie. There are less than four thousand of us at this moment fit to beararms against Alva's hordes which still number seven. Five thousand moreof them are on their way to complete the destruction of our city, tomurder our wives and our children, and to desecrate our homes. We wanttwo thousand well-trained soldiers to oppose them and inflict on thetyrant such a defeat as will force him to grant us all that we fightfor: Liberty!"

  "How wilt do that, friend of the leather mask?" queried some of the menironically.

  "How wilt find two thousand well-trained soldiers?"

  "Follow me, and I will show you."

  He turned and went into the building, the whole crowd following him asone man. The huge vaulted hall of the guild-house was filled in everycorner with Walloon prisoners--the fruit of the first day's victory.They were lying or sitting about the floor, some of them playing hazardwith scraps of leather cut from their belts; others watched them, ormerely stared straight in front of them, with a sullen look ofhopelessness: they were the ones who had wives and children at home, ormerely who had served some time under Alva's banner and had learned fromhim how prisoners should be treated. When the leaders of theinsurrection with Mark van Rycke at their head made irruption into thehall followed by a tumultuous throng, the Walloons, as if moved by ablind instinct, threw aside their games and all retreated to thefurthest end of the hall, like a phalanx of frightened men who have noteven the power to sell their lives. Many of those who had rushed in, inMark's wake, were the malcontents whose temper Peter Balde's hot-headedwords had inflamed. Awed by the presence of their leaders they stillheld themselves in check, but the Walloons, from their place of retreat,crowded together and terrified, saw many a glowing face, distorted bythe passion to kill, many an eye fixed upon them with glowering hatredand an obvious longing for revenge.

  Then Mark called out:

  "Now then, friends: in two hours' time the tyrant will have twelvethousand troops massed against us. We have two thousand well-trainedsoldiers within our guild-houses who are idle at this moment. Here arefive hundred of them--the others are close by! with their help we cancrush the tyrant--fight him till we conquer, and treat him as he wouldhave treated us. Here is your revenge for his insults! Get yourbrothers to forswear their allegiance and to fight by your side!"

  A gasp went right through the hall which now was packed closely withmen--the five hundred Walloon prisoners huddled together at one end, andsome four thousand men of Ghent filling every corner of the vast arcadedhall. In the very midst of them all Mark van Rycke hoisted up on theshoulders of his friends--with gleaming eyes and quiveringvoice--awaited their reply.

  The malcontents were the first to make their voices heard:

  "These traitors," they shouted, "the paid mercenaries of Alva! Artcrazy, van Rycke?"

  "The Spanish woman hath cajoled thee!" some of them exclaimed with acurse.

  "Or offered thee a bribe from the tyrant," cried others.

  "We'll hang thee along with the prisoners if thou darest to turn againstus," added Peter Balde spitefully.

  "Hang me then, friends, an ye list," he said with a loud laugh, "but letme speak while ye get the gallows ready. Walloons," he added, turning tothe prisoners who were regarding him with utter bewilderment, in whichpast terror still held sway, "ye are our kith and kin. Together we havegroaned under the most execrable tyrant the world has even known.To-day I offer you the power to strike one blow at the tyrant--a blowfrom which he will never recover--a blow which will help you to win thatwhich every Netherlander craves for: Liberty! Will ye help us to strikethat blow and cover yourselves with glory?"

  "Aye! aye!" came from the Walloons with one stupendous cry of hope andof relief.

  "Will you fight with us?"

  "Yes!"

  "Die with us?"

  "Yes!"

  "For the freedom of the Netherlands?"

  "For Liberty!" they cried.

  But all the while murmurings were going on among the Flemings. Theirhatred of the Walloons who had borne arms against their own native landand for its subjugation under the heel of an alien master was greateralmost than their hatred against the Spaniards.

  "The Walloons? Horror!" they shouted, even whilst Mark was infusingsome of his own ardent enthusiasm into the veins of those five hundredprisoners. "Shame on thee, van Rycke!" whilst one man who has remainednameless to history cried out loudly: "Traitor!"

  "Aye! traitor thou!" retorted van Rycke, "who wouldst prefer the lust ofkilling to that of victory!"

  "Burghers of Ghent," he continued, "in the name of our sacredMotherland, I entreat you release these men; let me have them assoldiers under our banner ... let me have them as brothers to fight byour side ... you would shed their blood and steep your souls in crime,let them shed theirs for Liberty, and cover themselves with glory!"

  "Yes! yes!" came from t
he leaders and from the phalanx of fighting menwho stood closest to their hero.

  "Yes! yes! release them! Let them fight for us!"

  The call was taken back and echoed and re-echoed until the high-vaultedroof rang with the enthusiastic shouts.

  "Walloons, will you fight with us?" they asked.

  "To the death!" replied the prisoners.

  "One country, one people, one kindred," rejoined Mark with solemnearnestness, "henceforth there will be neither Flemings nor Walloons,just Netherlanders standing shoulder to shoulder to crush the tyrant ofus all!"

  "Netherlanders! Orange and Liberty!" cried Walloons and Flemings inunison.

  "Give them back their own arms, provosts," commanded Mark, "ouruntrained men have not known how to use them! and follow me, friends!We have not gathered our reinforcements together yet. In half an hourwe shall have two thousand brothers under our flag!"

  "Long live Leatherface! To arms, brothers!" were the last shouts whichrang through the hall, ere Mark van Rycke led his followers away to thenearest guild-house and then to the next, where two thousand Walloonprisoners were by the magic of his patriotism and his enthusiasmtransformed into two thousand friends.

  VI

  Once more the roar of artillery and of musketry fills the air. It islong before the evening Angelus has begun to ring, but from far away thenews has come to every captain at the city gates that reinforcements areon the way from Dendermonde. No one can respect a truce which hid theblackest perfidy ever perpetrated by a tyrannical master against a bravepeople. As soon as the news has filtrated into the heart of the citythe Orangists rush to their arms, reinforced by two thousand trainedtroops; their battle cry becomes triumphant.