CHAPTER XI

THREE PAWNS

Three English gentlemen were walking slowly round the Vyverburg on the side where stand the spacious courts of the Buitenhof; the ground beneath their feet was thickly covered with dry yellow leaves, and the trees above their heads almost bare, but the sun shone as strong as summer on the placid surface of the water, and gleamed with a red fire in the rows of long windows of the Government buildings; the sky was a great luminous space of blue gold, against which the trees and houses the other side of the lake showed with a tender clarity, like the pictures of that great artist, Ver Meer of Delft.

There were swans and ducks on the lake; they, like the water on which they swam, were touched with this universal hue of gold, and seemed to be cleaving a way through glimmering mists of sunshine.

The three gentlemen paused by one of the posts protecting the edge of the water; it was near evening, and under the calm was the sense of a little rising wind, salt from the sea. Not a word was spoken between these three who had fallen from much talk to idleness; all had the same subject in their minds, though each coloured it with his own temperament; all of them were remarkable-looking men, and typical of some aspect of the great movement of which they formed a part.

The eldest was a man still in his prime, red-haired and tanned to an unnatural darkness, with something stern, sad, and passionate in his face, and an abruptness in his movements; he wore the splendid appointments of a soldier; across his shoulder was twisted a rich oriental scarf of coloured silk and gold threads; his name was Fletcher of Saltoun, a noble Scot, who had returned from the Turkish war to assist in the enterprise of the Stadtholder.

The second was a youth of singular sweetness of expression and delicacy of feature, plainly dressed in grey; the charm of his appearance was marred solely by a black silk patch which he wore over his left eye; he was staring at the water with a melancholy air, and now and then sighed; this was Charles Talbot, eleventh Earl of Shrewsbury, dismissed last year from the army and the Lord-Lieutenancy of Staffordshire for refusing to abjure his religion; he had mortgaged his estates for L40,000, which was now at the Bank of Amsterdam at the service of the Prince. He was for the moment but one of the many refugees at The Hague.

The third was by far the most remarkable, and bore most signs of greatness: young, though a little older than the Earl, he was not, perhaps, half the height, being hunch-shouldered to a deformity, and thin and meagre in body; his face, livid and lined with disease, wore a sparkling expression of energy, his eyes, large, noble, and ever changing in expression with a kind of restless animation, scorn, impatience, and dare-devilry; even now, when standing still, he thrummed with his fingers on the railing and whistled 'Lillibulero' under his breath.

He was that Lord Mordaunt whose fiery, careless courage had urged this expedition on the Prince a year ago.

Fretting under the languor and idleness engendered by the beautiful late afternoon and the serene fair prospect, he proceeded to lead his companions out of the silence to which they were so obviously inclined.

"Where will the Prince land, eh, my lord?" he asked of Shrewsbury. "In the south-west or the north-east?"

He knew that my lord could not know what was not yet decided, but the question served to break the pause.

"Why, 'tis even what they argue about," answered the Earl. "Lord Dunblaine was with His Highness yesterday, and gave as his father's advice that we should choose the north, because 'tis so easy to obtain horses in Yorkshire----"

"Or because my Lord Danby," sneered Mordaunt, "hath such a pull in that county that he hopeth to get His Highness into his hands."

"The Prince is very secret," said Mr. Fletcher.

"He listeneth to all and agreeth with none," answered my Lord Mordaunt.

"He might be more open," complained the Earl, who of the three was most in the favour of William; but Mordaunt perhaps understood the Prince better.

"Dr. Burnet is to draw up the letter to the Church," remarked Mr. Fletcher. "I ever disliked him."

"He is translating the Prince his Declaration also," said the Earl discontentedly. "I do hope the Prince will not be led by such an extreme Low Churchman----"

"M. Fagel wrote it," answered Mordaunt. "His Highness said the English were all such party men he would not trust them to prepare it. He is himself writing the letter to the army--you have heard? He is clever with the pen."

"He may," broke out Mr. Fletcher, "trust Dr. Burnet as much as he pleaseth; but if he is to put his confidence in my Lord Danby we are as good as lost----"

"Better my Lord Danby than my Lord Sunderland," interrupted Shrewsbury; "it surpriseth me that he can deal with such a knave."

Lord Mordaunt gave an impatient pirouette.

"Why is there all this delay--delay?" he cried, "_I_ would have sailed months ago!"

Mr. Fletcher roused at that. He was innocent enough in the matter of politics to have been one of those who accompanied, with hope of success, Lord Monmouth on his fatal expedition, and to consider the Prince's attempt as such another enterprise.

"You are right," he said gloomily. "The King will get wind of it, and Dartmouth will have his ships spread all round the coast to prevent a landing."

"I am sick of The Hague--sick!" exclaimed Mordaunt impetuously. "If His Highness don't leave the cursed place soon, I'll go without him!"

Shrewsbury laughed, then Mordaunt himself good-humouredly; Mr. Fletcher stared at the slow-sailing ducks. He did not care much what happened, but he hated inaction, and began to regret the Turks who had provided it.

"You have heard that Skelton hath been recalled and lodged in the Tower?" asked Mordaunt.

"Yes," said Shrewsbury; "it was in the letters this morning. It might have been expected after His Majesty's denial of a French alliance and reprimand to M. Barillon."

"Sure bad policy," said Mr. Fletcher, but without enthusiasm, "and a good stroke for the Prince."

In truth none of these gentlemen guessed what a stroke. James had actually stepped into the trap laid for him, and, seeing how great an advantage the appearance of an alliance between him and France gave the States, had angrily repudiated the suggestion, and haughtily reprimanded M. Barillon for French interference with his affairs. Sunderland, prepared by the Prince, had urged him on to this course, and the letters of M. D'Albeville had served to back the Lord-President's reassurances. The Prince had been triumphant in this encounter, the States and the people were warmer in his cause than ever after this proof, as they took it, of a connection, between France and England, dangerous to themselves. M. D'Avaux, since the disgrace of Skelton, was silent with mortification, and a kind of lull hung over Europe; William was looking with a terrible anxiety towards Flanders, where Louis had his troops threatening the frontiers of the Spanish Lowlands, and so the United Provinces. What would Louis do now the King of England had rejected his warnings and refused his aid? On the answer to that question the fate of Protestant Europe depended.

But these three knew and cared little of these matters; their minds were set wholly on the domestic policies of England, and occupied with a vague ideal of liberty for their own faith and their country's laws, not unmingled with some desire for vengeance on the party now upper-most.

"I saw Sir James Stair to-day," said Mr. Fletcher suddenly; "he hath come from Leyden to join the Prince. I suppose he will take to himself the affairs of Scotland."

"Nay," answered the Earl; "the Prince is all for William Carstares, a poor, mean Scottish minister; but, sir, more in the Prince his confidence than any of us----"

"Carstares," cried Mordaunt, with flashing eyes, "hath been under torture with secrets of M. Fagel in his keeping, and never betrayed them. A brave man!"

Shrewsbury shrugged his shoulders delicately.

"I wish we sailed to-morrow," said Fletcher of Saltoun.

The restless Mordaunt moved on, and the others sauntered beside him.

"The boats are all creeping down to the sea laden with arms," he said excitedly. "They lie thick as pebbles among the reeds of the islands of the Rhine and Meure. Sirs, ye should see them."

"I had the Prince his command to stay at The Hague," answered Shrewsbury. "Saw you these boats?"

"That I did, and pontoons, and transports, and the hay slung in ropes in the ports, and the great trains of artillery..."

They were walking towards the Gevangenpoort, the prison gate which rose up by the side of the Vyver. The hazy sky was changing to a tawny colour behind the dark roof lines of the houses, flushed here and there with gold and a stain of purple; little pale, shell-coloured clouds floated away to the uppermost heights of heaven where the clear blue was still untouched, and the water began to glow and burn with the reflected fires of the sky.

The clear chimes of the Groote Kerk struck the hour, and the sound of oncoming horsemen caused the few passers-by to pause before entering the narrow way of the prison arch.

A cavalcade came into sight from the direction of the Stadhuis, and moved at a swift trot towards the Gevangenpoort--a number of gentlemen, with two riding before the others.

As they passed every hat was removed.

"The Prince returning from Helvoet," said Lord Mordaunt, and the three uncovered as the horsemen approached.

The Stadtholder was mounted on a huge grey Flemish horse, and on his right hand rode the Marechal de Schomberg, still erect and magnificent; the two were talking with a certain stiff courtesy; behind them came the Spanish envoy, M. Zuylestein, M. Zolms, and M. Auverqueverque, together with a number of Dutch and German nobles.

The Prince saw the three Englishmen and saluted very graciously; the setting sun was for a moment full on his grave face, then he passed through the prison arch, and the company clattered over the cobbles out of sight.

"No Englishman with him, mark you," said Mr. Fletcher.

"Mr. Herbert told me that he _could_ not be open with us," replied Shrewsbury.

"Yet Herbert is to have the command of the expedition, is he not?"

"They say so; but he is full of discontent. Admiral Evertgen hath spoken against him to the Prince, methinks."

Mr. Fletcher saluted one of his countrymen whom he had recognized, and the three turned back.

A steady dusk was descending, extinguishing the colours in the sky, in the water, in the windows of the Binnenhof, and blurring those in the dresses of the people passing to and fro; only the trees and the houses retained their distinctness and sharpness of outline, and they took on a marvellous colour of living silver grey. Long deep shadows blended with the water the beautiful irregular buildings that had been the theatre of so many great events; the swans stood out, a dead white, from hues rapidly darkening and mysterious; their feathers were ruffled by a long breeze that swept chilly from the sea and salt dunes at Scheveningen.

A yellow light sprang up in one of the lower windows of the Binnenhof, and cast reflections far beneath it in the water.

"Did you ever hear the story of John de Witt, the late Grand Pensionary?" asked Shrewsbury, pulling his cloak about him. "M. Bentinck told me, and kept me out of bed with the tale----"

"Why should you think of that now?" asked Mordaunt curiously.

"You see that light there--the first to be lit in the Binnenhof?--that was his room, and M. Bentinck said that always when one passed late one would see that candle shine and know that M. de Witt was still waking."

"He got a poor reward," said Mr. Fletcher. "He was torn to bits on the Plaats, was he not?"

"Anyone whose memory goeth back sixteen years will give you an account of it," answered my Lord Mordaunt dryly. "I wish I had been beside M. de Witt that day with a sword in my hand!"

The Earl sighed.

"How cold it bloweth! A severe winter is presaged, do you not think, my lord?" he said. Then abruptly: "Why should good men meet such ends?"

Lord Mordaunt laughed.

"You ask me to explain ingratitude? By Heaven, I have not the wit for the task."

"Ingratitude!" frowned Shrewsbury; "but these people love the Prince because he hath done them great services----"

"But shall we?" interrupted Mordaunt. "Ah, sir, I think the Prince will meet the same spirit as did John de Witt, should he ever rule in England----"

"Why, God forbid!" exclaimed Mr. Fletcher.

"What?" demanded Mordaunt sharply--"that we should ever be ungrateful?"

"No; that His Highness should ever rule in Britain."

Lord Mordaunt answered with some intensity--

"Are you so simple, sir, as to think we can have a man like that among us _not_ ruling us?"

Lord Shrewsbury was doubtfully silent. His timorous nature had been startled by the sudden action into which circumstances had spurred it. A sense of loyalty, a terror of underhand methods, a dread of anything so violent as a revolution made him already secretly regret the part he had so far played so well.

Mr. Fletcher answered carelessly and thoughtlessly--

"You set too high a value on the little Prince. His life is not worth a year's purchase."

Lord Mordaunt flashed an extraordinary look over the fine person of the speaker, and the comely youth of the Earl. His thin hand clutched on to his sword-belt, and his haggard face flushed.

"You set too high a value on bone and muscle!" he cried, with a passionate sneer. "You are jolly fellows, both of you; but who will remember you when you have been dead a year? But men," he added with a terrible energy, "will talk of the Prince of Orange, and of me."

They stared at him, amazed at this outburst, and Shrewsbury, seeing what a frail, deformed creature he was, blushed with a kind of shame.

"Good God!" said Mr. Fletcher, "I am not working for fame, my lord."

"No!" flashed Lord Mordaunt; "creatures of clay--of clay! Prettily coloured, but a breath of the fire that burneth in the little plain vessels would crack you in a day."

He gave a flourishing bow, and walked off towards the Stadhuis.

"An Eccentric," remarked Mr. Fletcher, looking after him.

"I fear so. He will put himself into a passion at a word; but he would pledge his whole fortune for you if you were in need of it," answered the Earl. "How suddenly dark it is; let us, sir, go home."