"Brothers, lend me your ears; for I have need of you. To-day a dishonor has been put upon me, and, in me, upon our whole Guild, such as we have never before had to endure."
Masters and journeymen alike pressed eagerly around their Dean. Never before had they seen him so violently excited; all eyes were accordingly fixed upon him as he continued:
"You, like myself, are true-born citizens of Bruges; you, like myself, have too long been suffering under the disgrace and burden of bondage; but all that is nothing to what I have had to endure to-day. By Heaven! I hardly know how to tell you of it for very shame."
The bronzed cheeks of the Butchers already glowed with wrath, though as yet they knew not the cause of offense; every fist was clenched, and muttered curses rose to the lips of all.
"Listen, my brothers," pursued Breydel, "and bear the shame as you best can; listen attentively, for you will scarcely believe your ears: a French dog has smitten your Dean upon the face—yes, on this very cheek!"
If the Butchers had been wroth before,they were furious beyond all measure on hearing these words. Cries of rage reechoed from the vaulted roof, and fearful oaths of vengeance burst out on every side.
"How," continued Breydel, "can such a blot be washed away?"
"With blood!" was the unanimous response.
"I see you understand me, brothers," said the Dean; "yes, that is the only way. Now, you must know that it is by the soldiers of the garrison at Male that I have thus been handled. Will you not say, with me, that when to-morrow's sun rises upon Male, he shall find no castle there?"
A unanimous cry of assent followed this appeal.
"Come, then," pursued Breydel, "let us go! Every one to his home. Let each take his keenest ax, and any other arms he can provide; we shall want, too, what may serve for scaling-ladders. At eleven o'clock to-night we assemble in the alder thicket behind St. Cross."
After a few special instructions to the Ancients, the assembly broke up.
That night, a little before the appointed hour, might be seen in the moonlight, upon the divers paths in the neighborhood of St. Cross, a multitude of figures, all wending their way in one direction, and finally disappearing in the alder thicket. Some of them carried crossbows, others clubs; the most of them, however, were without any visible weapons. Already in the thickest of the little wood stood Jan Breydel, taking counsel with his fellow-leaders as to the side on which they should attack the castle.
At last it was unanimously determined to make the attempt from the side of the drawbridge, first filling in a portion of the ditch, and then endeavoring to scale the walls. A number of the young journeymen had been busily at work cutting brushwood and small trees, and binding fascines; and everything needful for the escalade being in readiness, the Dean gave the order to set forward.
The chronicles tell us that the men forming this expedition were seven hundred in number; nevertheless, so intent were they on effecting their purpose that the most perfect silence prevailed among them; not a sound was heard but the wary tread of their footsteps, the dragging of the branches along the earth, and the baying of the dogs, disturbed by the unwonted noise. At a bowshot from the castle they made halt, and Breydel, with a small party, advanced to reconnoitre. The sentinel, meanwhile, from his station above the gate, had caught the sound of their approach, though yet uncertain of its import, and now came forward upon the wall the better to pursue his observations.
"Wait a moment," cried one of the Butchers; "I will quickly rid you of this listening dog."
And as he spoke a bolt from his crossbow rapidly winged its way toward the sentinel. The aim, indeed, was good, but the missile shivered itself upon the tempered steel of the sentinel's breastplate, and at the same instant the alarm was given.
"France! France! an attack! to arms! to arms!"
"Forward, comrades!" shouted Breydel. "Forward! Here with the fascines!"
No sooner was it said than done. The ditch was bridged, the ladders planted, and a scaling-party stood upon the walls before any effectual resistance could be opposed to them. Within, meanwhile, the garrison was hurrying to arms, and in a few moments more than fifty of them were in readiness to oppose the assailants. For an instant Jan Breydel and his followers had the worst of the fray; there were hardly more than thirty men yet within the castle, and without helm or mail as they were, the French arrows rained fearfully upon them. But this did not last long; in a short time all the Flemings had made good their entrance.
"Now, comrades, to work!" cried Breydel. "Follow me!"
And, like a plowshare through the earth, he opened a way through the enemy's ranks. Every stroke of his ax cost a foeman's life, and his garments were speedily drenched with the blood of the slain. His comrades advanced with no less fury, and drowned the death-cries of their victims with their shouts of triumph.
While the conflict was thus raging upon the ramparts and in the courtyard, the castellan, Messire de St. Pol, seeing that there was no longer any hope of defending the fortress, ordered some of his men-at-arms to get to horse with all possible speed. A few moments after, a female figure was led, weeping and trembling, from an inner chamber, and placed before one of the mounted soldiers. The sallyport was then opened, the little body of horsemen
