"Well, Master Breydel, I, for my part, acknowledge that it is the Butchers that are the men of action. Let us ever put these two good gifts, caution and courage, together, and the French will never find time to make fast the irons about our feet."
A bright smile on the face of the Butcher acknowledged his satisfaction at this compliment.
"Yes," he replied, "there are fine fellows in our company. Master Peter; and that the foreign rascals shall know when the bitter fruit is ripe. But now I think of it, how shall we keep our Lion's daughter from Queen Joanna's knowledge."
"We will show her here openly in the light of day."
"How so, master? let Joanna of Navarre see the Lady Matilda? You can never mean that in your sound senses! I think you must have something wrong in your upper works."
"No; not yet, at any rate. To-morrow, at the entry of the foreign masters, all the Clothworkers will be under arms; so will you, with your Butchers. What can the Frenchmen do then? Nothing, as you know. Well, then, to-morrow I will put the Lady Matilda in a conspicuous place, where Joanna of Navarre can not but notice her. Then I shall be able to judge from the queen's countenance what her thoughts are, and how far we have to fear for our precious charge."
"The very thing, Master Peter! You are in very truth too wise for mortal man! I will keep watch over our princely lady; and I should only like to see the French offer to harm or affront her; for my hands itch to be at them, and that's the truth of it. But to-day I have to go to Sysseele to buy some oxen, so it will be your turn to keep guard over the young countess."
"Now, then, only be a little calm, friend Jan, and do not let your blood boil over: here we are at Clothworkers' Hall."
As Breydel had said, a considerable group of Clothworkers stood about the door. All had gowns and caps of the same form as their Dean, though here and there might be perceived a young journeyman, with longer hair, and something more of ornament about his apparel. This, however, was but an exception; for the company kept strict discipline, and did not permit in its members much of idle display.
Jan Breydel spoke a few words more with Deconinck in an undertone, and then left him in high satisfaction.
Meanwhile the Clothworkers had opened a passage for their Dean as he approached; and all respectfully uncovering their heads, followed him into the hall.
CHAPTER VII
The Lilyards had made unusual preparations for giving a magnificent reception to their new prince, whose favor they hoped by this means to earn. No cost had been spared; the fronts of the houses were hung with the richest stuffs the shops could furnish; the streets were turned into green avenues by means of trees brought in from the neighboring woods and fields, and all the journeymen of the different companies had been employed in erecting triumphal arches. On the following day, by ten o'clock in the morning, all was in readiness.
In the middle of the great square stood a lofty throne, erected by the Carpenters' Company, and covered with blue velvet, its double seat adorned with gold fringe, and furnished with richly worked cushions; two figures. Peace and Power, stood by, which with united hands were to place crowns of olive and laurel on the heads of Philip the Fair and Joanna of Navarre. Hangings of heavy stuffs descended from the canopy, and the very ground of the square was covered with costly carpets for some distance round.
At the entrance of the Stone street stood four columns painted in imitation of marble, and on each of them a trumpeter, dressed as a figure of Fame, with long wings and flowing purple robes.
Over against the great shambles, at the beginning of the Lady street, was erected a magnificent triumphal arch with Gothic pillars. Above, at the apex of the arch, hung the shield of the arms of France; lower, one on each pillar, those of Flanders and the city of Bruges. The rest of the available space was occupied with allegorical devices, such as might best flatter the foreign lord. Here might be seen the black lion of Flanders humbly cringing under a lily; there were the heavens with lilies substituted for stars; and many other like images, such as a spirit of base truckling had suggested to these bastard Flemings.
If Jan Breydel had not been kept in restraint by the Dean of the Clothworkers, the people would certainly not have been long scandalized by these symbols of abasement. As it was, however, he swallowed his indignation, and looked on in dark and desperate endurance. Deconinck had convinced him that the hour was not yet come.
The Cathelyne street was hung throughout its whole length with snow-white linen and long festoons of foliage, and every house of a Lilyard bore an inscription of welcome. On little four-cornered stands burned all kinds of perfumes in beautifully chased vases, and young girls strewed the streets with flowers. The Cathelyne gate, by which the king and queen were to enter the town, was decked on the outside with magnificent scarlet hangings; there, too, were placed allegorical pictures intended to glorify the stranger, and to throw scorn upon the lion, the ancestral emblem of victory. Eight angels had been secretly planted on the gatehouse to
