"Long live Deconinck! long live Deconinck!" And now the Clothworkers pressed about their Dean, and, in their exultation, raised him aloft upon the blood-stained shield of one of the soldiers whom they had killed. In vain Deconinck resisted; he was obliged to allow himself to be carried in triumph through all the streets of the city.
Strange sight it was—that tumultuous procession. Thousands upon thousands, armed with such weapons as the moment had offered—axes, knives, spears, hammers, clubs—ran hither and thither, shouting as if possessed. Above their heads, upon the buckler, stood Deconinck, with the fetters on his hands and feet; beside him marched the Butchers, with bared arms and flashing axes. More than an hour was thus consumed; at last Deconinck called to him the Deans and other principal officers of the Guilds, and informed them that he must immediately confer with them upon a matter of the greatest importance to the common cause; he desired them, therefore, to assemble at his house that same evening, in order to concert together the necessary measures.
He then addressed the people, thanking them for their services and for the honor they had shown him; the irons were removed from his hands and feet, and amid enthusiastic acclamations, he was conducted by his fellow-citizens to the door of his house in the Wool street.
BOOK SECOND
CHAPTER I
John van Gistel and his Lilyards stood in the vegetable-market, fully armed. With them were some three hundred of their retainers, every man ready for battle. The strictest silence was maintained, for the alarm once given, their plot would fail. They awaited patiently the first beams of the morning sun, to fall upon the people and disarm them; then, without more ado, to hang Deconinck and Breydel as rebels, and, finally, to coerce the Guilds into complete subjection. The selfsame day De Chatillon was to make his entry into the disarmed city, and to establish, once for all, a new form of government in Bruges, Unfortunately for them, however, Deconinck's sagacity had penetrated their secret, and had already provided the means for frustrating their designs.
At the same moment, and in equal silence, the Clothworkers and Butchers, with detachments from some of the other trades, stood drawn up in arms in the Flemish street. Deconinck and Breydel were conferring together at a little distance from their corps, and laying out the plan for their morning's work. It was finally settled that the Clothworkers and Butchers were to fall upon the Lilyards, while the men of the other Guilds should make themselves masters of the city gates, which they were forthwith to close, in order to cut off from the enemy all succor from without.
Hardly was the plan of operations agreed upon, when the morning bell began to sound from the church of St. Donatus, and the tramp of John van Gistel's horses was heard in the distance; upon which the men of the Guilds at once set themselves in motion, and marched upon the Lilyards, all in the deepest silence. It was upon the great marketplace that the two hostile bodies first caught sight of each other; the Lilyards, just turning the corner of the Bridle street, while the Guildsmen were still in the Flemish street. Great was the astonishment of the French party at finding their secret discovered; nevertheless, as good knights and men of valor, they determined to persevere, and were still confident of success.
The trumpets soon gave forth their inspiriting tones, and horse and rider dashed in headlong charge upon the citizens, who had not yet extricated themselves from the defile of the Flemish street. The leveled spears of the Lilyards were met by the "good-days" of the Clothworkers, who in serried phalanx awaited the shock. But how great soever the courage and address of the Guildsmen, their unfavorable position made it impossible for them to hold their ground before the terrible onslaught. Five of their front rank fell dead or wounded to the ground, and so gave the enemy's horsemen the opportunity of breaking their array; three of their divisions were already driven back; the bodies of the Clothworkers strewed the pavement; and the Lilyards, now deeming themselves masters of the field, triumphantly raised their warcry: "Montjoie St. Denis! France! France!" Deconinck in the front held his ground valiantly, "good-day" in hand, and for some time succeeded in rallying the foremost ranks, who had alone to support the whole shock of the enemy, the narrowness of the street preventing the main body from taking their share in the fight. But the Dean's exhortations and example could not long uphold the fortune of the day; the French party pressed forward with redoubled efiforts upon his van, and drove it back in confusion upon the rear.
All this had passed so rapidly that already many had fallen, before Master Breydel, who, with the men of his Guild, stood at the farther end of the street, was aware of what was going on; at last a movement ordered by Deconinck opened the ranks, and showed him at once the whole position of things, and the danger of the Clothworkers. Muttering some unintelligible words, he turned to his men, and cried in a loud voice:
"Fonvard, Butchers! forward!"
As if beside himself, he dashed onward through the opening made by the Clothworkers—he and his men after him, against the enemy. At the first blow his ax hit through headplate and skull of a horse; the second laid the rider at his feet. The next instant he strode over four corpses; and so he fought onward,
