"The subject must obey his lord; and, however severely that lord may punish disobedience, it is not for the subject to sit in judgment on his acts."
"You are right, Messire de Mortenay, so goes the word in France; and as you are a natural-born subject of King Philip the Fair, it is fitting that you should execute his commands. But we free Flemings—we can no longer bear the galling chain. The governor-general has carried his cruelty beyond all bounds of endurance; be sure that erelong blood shall flow in torrents, and that, if the fortune of war goes against us, and the victory is with you, at least it will be but a few wretched slaves that are left you; for we have resolved, once for all, to conquer or to die. However, be that as it may, happen what will—and it is to tell you this that I am come—not a hair of your head shall be injured by us; the house in which you abide shall be to us a sanctuary, and no Fleming shall set his foot across its threshold. For this Deconinck pledges you his faith and honor."
"I thank your countrymen for their regard," replied De Mortenay; "but I can not accept the protection which you offer me, and indeed shall never be in a situation to require it. Should aught occur such as you prophesy, it will be under the banner of France, and not in my house, that I shall be found; and if I fall, it will be sword in hand. But I do not believe that things will ever come to such a pass; as for the present insurrection, it will soon be at an end. But for you, Dean, do you make haste away to some other land; that is what I counsel you as your friend."
"No, Messire, I will never forsake my country, the land in which the bones of my fathers rest. I pray you, consider that all things are possible, and that it may yet be that French blood shall be poured out like water; when that day comes, then bethink you of my words. This is all that I would say to you, noble sir. So now, farewell; and may God have you in his keeping!"
As De Mortenay, when left to himself, pondered over Deconinck's words, he could not but feel an anxious foreboding that some terrible secret lay hidden under them: he resolved therefore that he would the very next day warn De Chatillon to especial vigilance, and himself take extraardinary measures for the security of the city. Little deeming that what he feared, and thought to provide against, was so near at hand, he now retired to his bed. and soon fell asleep in all tranquillity.
CHAPTER IX
Behind the village of St. Cross, at some few bowshots from Bruges, rose a little wood, in summer a favorite Sunday's resort of the citizens. The trees were so planted as to afford ample space between them, and a soft turf covered the ground with its flowery carpet. This was the appointed place of rendezvous; and already, at two o'clock in the morning, Breydel was there. The night was impenetrably dark, the moon was hidden behind dense clouds, a gentle wind sighed among the foliage, and the monotonous rustling of the leaves added a mystic terror to the scene.
In the wood itself, at the first glance nothing was discernible; but upon more attentive observation numerous shadowy figures might be perceived, as of men extended side by side upon the ground, each with a strangely glimmering light close to it, making the turf look like a faint reflex of the starry heaven above, so thickly was it studded with luminous points; which, in truth, were naught else but the bright blades of the axes, reflecting from their polished steel the few wandering rays which they could gather amid the darkness. More than two thousand Butchers lay thus in rank and file upon the earth; their hearts beat quick, their blood bounded in their veins; for the long yearned for hour, the hour of vengeance and liberation, was at hand. The deepest silence was maintained by this vast multitude; and all conspired to throw a veil of necromantic horror over the mysterious band.
Breydel himself had his place deep in the interior of the wood; beside him reclined one of his comrades, whom for his well-tried courage he especially affected; and thus in suppressed whispers the two discoursed together as they lay:
"The French dogs little expect the rousing up they will get this morning," began Breydel; "they sleep well; for they have seared consciences—the villains! I am curious to see the faces they'll make when they wake up and see my ax, and their death upon its edge."
"Oh! my ax cuts like a lancet; I whetted it till it took off a hair from my arm; and I mean to blunt it this night, or never to sharpen it again."
"Things have gone too far, Martin. They treat us like so many dumb beasts, and think that we shall crouch beneath their tyranny. They fancy we're all like those accursed Lilyards: but they little know us."
"Yes, the bastard villains cry, 'France forever!' and fawn upon the tyrants; but they shall have something for themselves to do; I didn't forget them when I took so much pains about sharpening my ax I"
*'Oh, no,
