Part 7

“He hath not much fortitude after all,” said Farnese, who had looked on suffering so often that no anguish could move him; his cold eyes had many times rested on men and women flaming at the stake with the same expression of cruel indifference with which they now rested on this man of his own blood, who had served his turn and was no longer useful to the policies of Spain.

“How long will this last?” asked the priest.

“I cannot tell,” answered the Prince of Parma. “He must have great strength.”

“He had until he used it in the delights of Italy,” said Francisco Orantes. “Such a life as his, señor, does not make for old age—”

“Escovedo! Escovedo!” moaned Don Juan. “Help me! Succour me! I am burning–burning to the bone, the marrow! Jèsu! Jèsu and Maria!”

“Ay, pray for your sins,” remarked Farnese sombrely, “or you will go to light the flames that burn to all eternity.”

“Nay, señor,” said the priest; “he confessed and received absolution.”

“Who shall absolve Philip?” murmured Don Juan, who had caught the sentence. “I wish I had not betrayed Don Carlos. How awful it is to die!”

Drops of sweat stood out on his forehead, and his fingers trembled on the brocade covering him.

“The war,” he whispered, “the war.”

He thought of the great armies sweeping to and fro over the Low Countries, of all the toss and turmoil of Europe through which he had moved so gaily, so splendidly, of the infidel smitten in Africa; he did not think of his childhood at all. Life seemed to have begun for him on the day on which he had first met the King in the green forest glade.

“Pray,” urged the priest, “pray, señor.”

He shook his head feebly; he was not at all afraid of God–only of Philip. Besides, he did not mean to die.

The dreadful pain was lessening in his veins; he turned over on his side and looked up at Farnese.

“Where shall we put your body when your soul has left us?” asked the priest.

The sick man’s eyes gleamed.

“The Escurial,” he muttered. “Philip, remembering Lepanto might give me that–if not, then Our Lady of Montserrat–but I am not dying,” he added. “My life is not finished–you must see that–my life is–not–finished.”

An extraordinary feeling of peace came over him; he wondered at it and closed his eyes; he again saw the blue Sicilian seas encompassing him and heard their lapping waves in his ears.

“I will sleep now,” he thought, “and when I wake I will plan a victory–life is so long and I am so young—”

He smiled, for all the agony had ceased, and he was no longer conscious of his body; his head sank to one side so that his face was turned towards the wall.…

Francisco Orantes rose from his knees.

“He died very gently,” he said; “his soul passed as lightly as a bird to the bough.”

Farnese made the sign of the cross, and his figure dilated with pride, ambition and power; he went to the armour in the corner and picked up the dead man’s bâton of command.

* * * * *

Philip buried his brother in the Escurial near the great Emperor who was their father.

THE POLANDER

The Polander was a very innocent fellow who came out of Germany to enter the service of my lord Conningsmarke, a Gentleman of a great Quality at this moment in _London_.

He had taught the Polander some while ago at the instance of Captain Vratz, who was an old retainer of his, and who gave this youth a good character, especially for dressing Horses after the German Fashion. The Polander knew nothing of my lord Count Conningsmarke, and nothing about _England_, for he was very simple and ignorant, being but of Peasant birth, but the Captain he knew and loved, for this man had brought him out of Evil Days in Poland, and his heart held little else but a deep Affection for this Captain Vratz.

On a Friday he came to London and inquired for the Governor of my Lord at the Academy of M. Flaubert and this gentleman sent for the Count’s Secretary; and there the Polander lay on Saturday night feeling very strange in this new City and constantly praying that he might meet with Captain Vratz soon, who had been to him such a Benefactor.

The next day being the 11th of _February_ and bitter cold, Mr. Hanson, the Governor of my Lords, the young Counts of Conningsmarke, came to the Polander and bid him make ready to be carried to the Lodging of my Lord Charles.

This Governor seemed in a great Confusion of mind; he went over words twice when he spoke, which was in the _German_ language (for the Polander knew not _English_) and the colour was up and down in his Face and his hands a-tremble.

The Polander stood before him, very tall and strong and humble, with his blue eyes clouded with Bewilderment and Disappointment; for he hoped he would be taken to Captain Vratz, and presently dared to say as much, very timidly.

Upon this Mr. Hanson broke out in a kind of Excitement.

“Would to God!” said he, “that this Swede Vratz had stayed out of England, for I think he will be the Engine of some harm to my Lord.” Then he went on to say that he was in no way responsible for the Count Charles but only for the other lord, Philip his younger Brother.

“But I must help a great man where I can,” he added, and seemed Troubled.

The Polander Wondered he should speak so to a Servant, but dare say no more but followed him out into the cold streets of _London_. It was bitter enough and the Polander was in _Rags_, but the Buildings and the people so pleased him that he took no heed of the Sharpness of the weather but smiled to himself with pleasure at a City so _Fine_. So they came to _St. Martin’s Lane_ where the Count Lodged and in a room mean enough, high up, a place strange for a Man of Quality.

“My Lord Lodged in the _Haymarket_” said Mr. Hanson, “but the Chimney smoked so that he was fain to move”–and with that he opened a Door and the Polander followed him into the Count’s Chamber.

This was an ill habitation for a Gentleman, being mean and low and of a poor Furnishing. There was a fire on the hearth, very brightly burning, and near the window a Bed, on which my lord the Count Charles lay, wrapped in a Flowered Robe of taffeta stuff.

He was a very young Gentleman, fair and pale, with a look of fear in eyes of an unusual bright blue; at the entry of Mr. Hanson and the Polander he sprang to a sitting posture on the Bed.

“This is the fellow, my Lord,” said the Governor.

The Count gave the Polander a Look of a startling keenness.

“Are you trustworthy?” says he.

“I will do anything for Captain Vratz,” answers the Polander humbly Yet with obstinacy.

My Lord put his feet, which were in white Satin slippers, very soiled, to the ground. “You are in my service,” he says swiftly.

“To Look after Horses,” replied the Polander simply, “and to _dress_ them in the German Fashion, if it please your Honour.”

The Count glanced at the Governor and said:

“This is a fellow of a _great_ simplicity and _well suited_.”

Mr. Hanson answered with some uneasiness:

“Oh, I know not–Captain Vratz gave him a good Character for faithfulness.”

At this the Polander was very satisfied and his eyes held Gratitude.

The Count, leaning on one elbow against the Bed Post, addressed him:

“What is your Name?”

“George Borosky, my Lord.”

“Well,” said the Count of Conningsmarke, “it is true that I wish you to dress horses in the German fashion, for I believe you are a good Groom and I am here in _England incognito_ to raise a _Regiment_ of _Horse_ for the service of the _King of England_ Who is to enter into an Alliance with _Swedeland_ and _Holland_ against _France_–indeed there is talk of a _Surprise_ on _Strasburg_ and my Brother has bought one Horse already and is to buy more.”

Here he stopped abruptly and the Polander gave a salute after the Military Fashion, not knowing what to say and withdrew against the Wall at the far end of the Chamber. Then my Lord spoke to Mr. Hanson.

“Have you made those Enquiries?” he asked.

“My Lord, I did ask the _Swedish resident_ and his answer was–that if you should Meddle in any Way with Esquire Thynne you would have but a bad living in _England_–but as for the Law of it, he could not say.”

“And for the Other?” asked my Lord, in a low voice.

“He said, that if you should Duel Mr. Thynne, he could not instruct you as to what the Law might be regarding your Hopes of the Lady Ogle, Esquire Thynne’s Wife.”

“Monsieur Lienburgh knoweth nought!” cried my Lord impatiently; “What said he as to Riding Out in the Hyde Park on a Sunday?”

“He said it might certainly be done, before and after Sermon time.”

My Lord seemed Satisfied with that and looked again towards the Polander, who had heard all this Conversation as it was held in the High Dutch or German, but had made Nothing of it and was only thinking of Captain Vratz.

“You are very Ragged,” said the Count, “and have never a Sword—”

Then he questioned him–had he not been long in coming?

And the Polander answered Yes, and there had been fear of the Ship being cast away, owing to the High Storms, he having been twelve days from _Strasburg_ to _Hamburg_ and fourteen from _Hamburg_ to _London_, instead of eight.

“Yes,” said my Lord pleasantly, “and I feared you were lost and went to enquire of the Ship at the ’Change, and I would have been unwilling to lose you, for Captain Vratz tells me you are a mighty Able Groom.”

“I do love Horses,” said the Polander, “and have trusted them always.”

“No man of mine can go in such a coat,” says my Lord, “but I have none to send to purchase one nor can I go out Myself by reason of the physic _Dr. Harder_ gave me, for I must no wise be Chilled, he said.”

“Why, I will do this Service for your Lordship, very Heartily,” answered Mr. Hanson.

“And a Sword also,” said the Count.

“That also,” said the Governor, “and Boots.” He asked my Lord then how his _Illness_ went and the Answer was–better, though the Ague was by no Means gone.

“Now, fellow,” said Mr. Hanson, “come with me to make these Purchases.”

My Lord took some money from the pocket of his gown and gave it to the Polander.

“That is to discharge your Lodging at Monsieur Flaubert’s Academy,” he said; “to-night you shall lie here.” He spoke in a Languid Tone, but his eyes had an Extraordinary sparkle and brightness.

Mr. Hanson now asked my Lord–How Much he was willing to dispose of on a Sword?

And he answered ten Shillings, and as much for the Coat.

Mr. Hanson then carried the Polander to a shop near and bought a riding Coat and a Pair of Boots and there was some difficulty in getting either large enough for one of his Bulk and Bearing.

They then went down _St. Martin’s Lane_ but could find never a Sword worth a Groat; then on Mr. Hanson went as far as _Charing Cross_ and then into a Cutler’s and bestowed ten Shillings on a Sword for a Servant, which could not be ready till Evening, however.

Mr. Hanson said he would call for it when he came back from the Play that night and took the Polander back to M. Flaubert’s Academy, where the Younger Count, a very Gay and Beautiful Gentleman, was learning to ride the Great Horse.

The Polander Paid for his Lodging and waited in the Academy feeling sad for loneliness till Mr. Hanson came back from the Theatre and took him again to the Cutler’s; but the Sword was by no means Ready.

“’Tis strange,” cried the Governor, “that a Gentleman cannot get a Little Sword for himself in a whole Afternoon!”

“Well, sir,” said the Cutler, “pray do not be Impatient. I will send the Sword.”

They then left the shop and went towards _St. Martin’s Lane_; it was now Snowing and a Great Volume of Wind abroad.

When they reached my Lord’s Lodging they found him still in his Gown and Night Cap sitting over the fire and he looked like a sick man save for the great Light and Glitter in his Eyes.

He asked where his Brother was.

“At his Grace of Richmond’s,” said Mr. Hanson; “We were at the Play together and I have ordered the Broadsword which will come anon.”

They were talking without any Regard to the Polander who stood stiff in his New Coat, Longing to see Captain Vratz and to go to the horses he was to look after (and he wondered where the Stables might be as this was too Ill a House to have any). Now Mr. Hanson went up to my Lord in moved fashion.

“Think of the Consequences of this, Count Charles!” he said.

My Lord looked up in a kind of Passion.

“He puts Words on me that are no wise to be borne!”

“Is it for the words he Used or for the sake of the Red Haired Girl you saw at the Hague?” asked Mr. Hanson, biting the end Curls of his Peruke.

“He called me a Hector,” said my Lord, “and Laughed at my Horse–and, by God, you shall leave the Lady Ogle Out of this!”

“Your Lordship has not left her Out,” answered Mr. Hanson, “for you bid me discover if you would have any Hopes of her if you got rid of her Husband—”

At this Point the Count bid the Polander go down to the Kitchens of the house and dine, and he added that in this place he was known as Carlo Cuski, and not by his Real Name.

Thereupon the Polander went; there was a Man and a Maid and a Boy in the Kitchen who had no Language but _English_, so the Count’s man ate his meat in Silence and was presently going to the place appointed to him to sleep in when a young Gentleman, very finely Dressed in Blue, came down, and speaking _German_, bade him Come up to the Count, which he did and found to his vast Joy, Captain Vratz with his Lordship.

“Come here, Fellow,” said my Lord; he stood up in the Light of the Fire and his slight figure in the Limp Gown, the Night Cap pulled over his tumbled Hair, his pallid face with the feverish eyes was in a Contrast with the Men of Lesser Quality who were Splendid enough in cut Velvet and Lace and Tassels.

Christopher Vratz lifted his Face flushed with Fairness after the fashion of the Swedelander and looked at the Polander.

“You are my Servant now, Borosky,” said he.

“Yes,” added my Lord. “I have given you to Vratz,” and he Shivered a little closer to the Fire and Held out his hand to the Glow of it, Regarding the three with Eyes so unnaturally blazing that they conveyed a thrill of terror.

“Oh, dear sir,” said the Polander, “this is a Greater Joy than I looked for in coming to _England_.”

He bent with more Grace than might easily have been expected from his Bulk and kissed the Count’s thin hand in a humble Gratitude.

“This is a man,” said Captain Vratz, “who will do Anything for me–out of the Great Affection he hath for my Person—”

“Need you set him on a losing Game?” asked the young German, glancing at the pleased, simple face of the Polander. “There is many an _Italian_ walking about the Piazza of Covent Garden who would do the Trick for the Matter of Fifty Pounds.”

At that my Lord looked up Sharply and seemed Mightily out of Countenance and Captain Vratz answered:

“That is in the Count’s hands. I am his Man.”

Now the Polander made nothing of all this but only Wished to be away with his Master; and they made so little account of him that they never abated their Talk but treated him like a Dog that had just been bought by a new Master, and so he took it himself and truly his Attention was absorbed by a Broadsword he beheld on a Table near, and that he Surmised was that ordered by Mr. Hanson at the Cutler’s at _Charing Cross_ and a fine Weapon too, from the Look.

Near this Weapon was a Black Peruke, and the Polander wondered why a Gentleman of so fair a face as my Lord should have so Black a Wig and he surmised that it belonged to Mr. Hanson.

My Lord walked about the bare floor and seemed in some contained Passion of Excitement.

“It will be a Stain on my Blood,” said he, “but one good action at the Wars or one Fight on the Counterscarp will wipe that away—”

And he spoke like a Man exalted in his Courage and ready for a Tragic Turn.

Presently the three–Vratz, Stern the _German_ lieutenant, and the Polander–went away, it being then late at Night and Cold.

And before they went the Count gave the Polander the Sword that Mr. Hanson had bestowed Ten Shillings on, and the last that Fellow saw of my Lord was the sight of him in the glimmer of a dying Candle staring after the three of them with a Face very Young, very Ill, very Wild, beneath the tumbled Night Cap.

The three of them went to the Captain’s Lodgings; he lay at the _Black Bull_ in _Holborn_, in an ill Part of the Town.

Then the Captain called the Polander up to his room and gave him to Drink and after a little said:

“What will You do for Me, George Borosky?”

“Before God, Anything–for the great Gratitude I have to You.”

At this Vratz Laughed and cast off his Hat and Wig and his face was Fresh and Ruddy as a Rose under the Gold of his Hair.

“Look you, Borosky,” he made answer, “there is a Man in _London_ who has put an insult on me–and I did put a Challenge on him by the post having no Gentleman to send, and he returned answer by his Servant that I was not of a Sufficient Quality for a man of his Breeding to fight–and this is a thing difficult to Avenge.”

The Polander waited eagerly for his Part in this.

“It is Esquire Thynne of Longleat Hall,” continued the Captain, “a Great Jolly _English_ Gentleman and a Notable Rake at Court–a man very Rich and splendid–he will be riding along the _Mall_ to-morrow on his way to Church and it is we three who must stop him.”

With that he took a Blunderbuss from the wall and laid it in the great Hands of the Polander.

“As you love me,” he said earnestly, “you will put some bullet into this Tom Thynne.”

The Polander stared at the weapon and at his Master, then went on his knees, very Pale in his Countenance.

“This is plain Murder,” he answered, very troubled, “and I have Lived an Innocent Life, even at the war, twenty crowns would pay for all I took in Plunder and I have been Compassionate, nor given to Treachery or Swearing—”

“I ask you to do no Wrong,” said Vratz, “only to Obey your Master–If a man will not Duel how can one Come at him but this Way?”

“It is a Just thing,” added Stern, “to obey those we have an Obligation to–and I am Pledged to you, yet I am willing to be Instructed in the Laws of _England_ to discover what Penalty one must Pay for this—”

“Why, None,” replied the Captain, “for we will leave the Country by the first pair of oars going to _Gravesend_, and should we be taken–first we have a friend in that Noble Prince, the Count of Conningsmarke, and secondly, all will fall on me as the Principal and none on you as the Agents or mere Engines of my Will–And Afterwards,” he added, “you shall be Rich Men.”

“Not for Money,” said the Polander sadly. “I would rather spend my Days with Horses than the Rich. I would sooner die Old and Comfortable than in Prison in a Strange Country–but I have promised to serve you and if God does not directly tell me it is a Sin I will do this for you.”

“You may trust me when I tell you it is no Sin but an Act Necessary to Wipe out Dishonour,” returned the Captain.

“I do trust you!” replied the Polander “yet I will also ask God about this matter.”

Then the Captain laughed and dismissed him, bidding him be Ready on the Morrow, and the Polander went to a Bed set for him in a Garret of the _Black Bull_. He was Much Troubled in his Mind that the first Service asked of him by the Captain should be a Murder and that on the second night of his stay in a Strange Country he should have such a Task put on him as to Shoot a Gentleman coming from _Church_, for it seemed an unmanly Action.

What Penalties might follow he did not know, for he was Ignorant of the Laws of _England_; to this he gave Little Heed for, however: he had faith in the Captain and that Great Gentleman who was his friend, Charles, Count of Conningsmarke. As he sat in the Dark wondering where the right lay in this Case he decided to make Proof of it and to that end went on his Knees and Recited the _Lord’s Prayer_ very Gravely and Earnestly. And when he had finished he rose up again and Searched in his Heart to see if he was Strengthened against this Action; but he found no change in his Feelings: so he thought that if it had been anything Wrong God would have this Way told him; so was Comforted and Decided to Help the Captain.

Having come to this Resolve he lay down on his bed, dressed as he was, and Chanced to Dream of Poland which Country he had not seen this Great While–but he saw it in the Dream very Clear with the sparkle of Snow in Winter and the bright-coloured dresses in the Streets.

He thought he saw a Church too and dreamt he stood on the threshold and was thinking with much pleasure of Entering when he was awakened by the voice of Christopher Vratz.

The Polander got to his Feet, Remembering everything and the Captain put in his hand a Blunderbuss and bade him be Silent; the two went down to the stables of the _Black Bull_ where was Ernest Stern and three Horses and it was then about Seven of the Clock.

And the Polander, on seeing he was to be Mounted was greatly Encouraged, for he believed no evil could come to him when he was on the back of a Horse, so took this for a Good Omen.

“I wish we had Another Man,” said Captain Vratz, “for Esquire Thynne is one to go with a great Medley of Servants about him.”

They mounted then and as they Rode out of the Yard the _German_ asked what this Mr. Thynne was?

And the Captain made answer that he was a Man Well Known in _London_ for his marriage to Elizabeth, my Lady Ogle, last of the Percies, who was heiress to Five Baronies and one of the richest Women in the World; she had been married before, yet was but a child of fifteen and still under Governance at _The Hague_ and Mr. Thynne was looked upon as a lucky Man to have all this Wealth without the trouble of a Wife.

“The death of such a One will make a Stir in _England_,” said the lieutenant with an air of Misgiving; but Vratz bid him take Courage. “For,” he declared, “if there be any Penalties, I will pay them all.”

And the Polander Rode behind them patiently, much Remarked by the passers-by for his foreign air and Great Stature, and so they came to the _Mall_ where there was a goodly number of People.

And one of Them, who was a Young Man with a Mirror in his hat, Pranking on a Sizeable Horse, the Captain stopped and, Saying he was new come to _London_ and Desirous of seeing the Notables, asked if Esquire Thynne had yet passed?

The Englishman, making out this request with some difficulty from the Swedelander’s strange accent, answered at length Courteously that Mr. Thynne was Driving Out with His Grace of Monmouth, and would be coming from _Northumberland House_, where they had made a visit, anon, _Northumberland House_ being nearly at the End of the _Mall_, on the river at _Charing Cross_.

So they waited and the Sun mounted the Snow Clouds pleasantly but it was yet scarcely light, and the Bells of the Big Churches near by sounded in their first Ringing.

And after a few minutes a Coach and four Horses came swinging on its Leathers with Six Servants Riding at the Sides and Vratz knew the colours.

Before came a Fellow with a Flambeau; the Captain rode Past him and Caught the Reins of the Foremost horses, stopping the coach, and Stern cried out to the Polander: “Shoot!” at the same time Threatening the Coachman. Like one in a Stupour the Polander rode round to the Side of the Coach, and saw the Handsome Face of an _Englishman_ with Brown Eyes looking out of the window.

“Shoot!” cried Captain Vratz.

And the Polander raised his Blunderbuss and Fired into the lace-covered Bosom of Esquire Thynne.