"I am De Mortenay, let me pass." Immediately the Clawards made way for him with every token of respect, and opposed no obstacle to his passage.
"This way, this way; follow me, comrades!" cried he to the surviving Frenchmen, hoping thus to rescue them from their fate.
But the Flemings closed in again upon them, and dealt their blows pitilessly around. The number of the fugitives was so small that, besides De Chatillon, not more than thirty reached De Mortenay's house; the rest lay weltering in their blood. Breydel made his men halt at the door of the house, and forbade them to enter; he invested it on all sides, so that no man might escape, and himself kept guard at the entrance.
While this fray was going on, Deconinck was occupied in hunting out the few remaining Frenchmen in the Stone street, near Saint Salvator's; and the other Guilds were following his example in the quarters assigned to them. The dead were thrown from the houses; and the streets were soon so obstructed that it was scarcely possible to traverse them in the gloom. Many of the soldiers had disguised themselves, hoping thus to escape through one or other of the gates; but this was of no avail, for every one was required to pronounce the words, “Schild en vriend.” At the first sound of their foreign accent, the ax descended on their necks, and they fell groaning to the earth. From every quarter of the city resounded the shout, "The Lion for Flanders! Whoso is French is false; strike home!" Here and there a Frenchman fled before a Fleming, but only to meet his death, a few steps farther on, from the weapon of another foe.
This scene of vengeance lasted until the sun stood high in the heavens: it shone on the dead bodies, and dried the flowing blood of five thousand of the French. Yes, in this night five thousand aliens were offered to the shades of the murdered Flemings; it is a bloody page in the chronicles of Flanders, that wherein this number is written.
Before the dwelling of De Mortenay was a strange and appalling sight. A thousand Butchers lay spread out on the ground, with their axes in their hands, their threatening revengeful eyes riveted on the door. Their naked arms and their jerkins were smeared with blood; around them were piled heaps of uncounted slain. But of all this they took no heed. Here and there among the Butchers passed Guildsmen, seeking among the slain for the dead bodies of the Flemings, that they might receive honorable burial.
Although their hearts were full of rage, yet no word of reviling escaped the lips of the Butchers. The dwelling of De Mortenay was to them sacred, in virtue of their plighted word. They respected Deconinck's pledge, and had, moreover, a great esteem for the governor of the city; so they contented themselves with investing the entire quarter, and keeping careful watch.
Messire de Chatillon and John van Gistel, the Lilyard, had taken refuge in De Mortenay's house. They were overpowered by an extreme dread; for an inevitable death hovered before their eyes. De Chatillon was a man of courage, and awaited his fate with coolness; but the face of John van Gistel was bloodless, and his whole frame quaked with fear. Notwithstanding all his efforts, he was unable to conceal his terror, and excited the pity of the Frenchmen—even of De Chatillon, who was in equal peril. They occupied an upper room, overlooking the street; and from time to time they ventured to the window, and gazed with awe on the Butchers, who lay in wait about the door, like a pack of wolves lurking for their prey. Once, as John van Gistel showed himself a moment at the window, Jan Breydel caught sight of him, and threatened him with his ax. An angry, impetuous movement arose among the Butchers; all raised their axes toward the traitor, whose death they had sworn.
The heart of the Lilyard throbbed with anguish, as he saw in the gleam of these thousand axes his doom of death; and, turning to his companions, he said, in a tone of despair:
"We must die, Messires; there is no mercy for us, for they thirst for our blood like famished hounds. You will never leave this place. My God, what shall we do?"
"It is a disgrace," replied De Chatillon, "to meet one's death at the hands of this rabble; rather would I be slain sword in hand. But so it must be."
The coolness of De Chatillon disquieted Van Gistel still more.
"So it must bel" repeated he. "Oh my God, what a moment of agony! what torture they will inflict upon us! But, Messire de Mortenay, I pray you, for God's sake—you have much influence over them—ask them now if they will grant us our lives for a heavy ransom. Rather than die by their hands, I would give them whatever they might ask, no matter how much."
"I will ask them, indeed," answered De Mortenay; "but do not let yourself be seen, or they will drag you from the house by force."
He opened the window, and cried, "Master Breydel, Messire van Gistel wishes to ask you whether you will give him safe conduct for a heavy ransom. Ask whatever you please; name the required sum; and do not delay, I pray you."
"Comrades," shouted the Dean to his companions, with a bitter laugh, "they offer us gold! they think they can buy off the revenge of a people
