The Lion of Flanders. Vol. II. Fate

Beaujeu, Froald, governor of Douay, Alin de Bretagne. At the further end of the table, and apart from them, was a group of knights. It was the least honorable place; and as the French would not admit them to their company, they had found themselves obliged to occupy it. And truly the French were in the right; they were contemptible beneath contempt; for while their vassals, as genuine Flemings, were asserting their country's cause, these their feudal lords were banqueting with the foe! What blindness could lead these degenerate traitors to tear, like vipers, the bosom of their mother? They were marching under a hostile banner to shed the blood of their brethren and bosom friends on the soil of their common fatherland; and for what? that the country which gave them birth might be made a land of slaves, and humbled beneath the yoke of the alien. They had time to feel that shame and contempt were their portion, and to feel at their hearts the gnawing worm. The names of these recreants have been handed down to posterity: among many others, Henry van Bautershcm, Geldof van Winghene, Arnold van Eyckhove, and his eldest son, Henry van Wilre, William van Redinghe, Arnold van Hofstad, William van Cranendonck, and John van Raneel, were the most conspicuous.

The knights ate off silver dishes, and drank the choicest wines from cups of gold. The goblets which were placed before Robert d'Artois and the two kings were larger and more costly than the rest; their coats-of-arms were cunningly graven upon them, and their rims shone with rare and precious gems. During the meal, a lively conversation went on among the knights on the position and prospects of the expedition; and from its tone the fearful doom of Flanders might easily be gathered.

"Most undoubtedly," answered the general to a question of De Chatillon, "they must be all exterminated. Those cursed Flemings can be tamed only by fire and sword; and why should we let such wretched boors live? Let us make a thorough end of them, Messires, that we may not again have to stain our swords with their plebeian blood."

"Right!" said John van Raneel, the Lilyard; "you say right, Messire d'Artois. We must make no terms with the seditious rascals; they are too rich, and would soon give us trouble again. Already they refuse to recognize us, who are sprung from noble blood, as their rightful lords; they seem to think that the wealth which they gain by their industry makes their blood nobler still. They have built houses in Bruges and in Ghent which surpass our castles in magnificence; and is not that an insult to us? Certainly, we will endure it no longer."

"Unless we wish to -have a fresh outbreak every day," remarked William van Cranendonck, ''all the craftsmen must be put to death; for the survivors will never be quiet; and therefore I am of opinion that Messire d'Artois ought not to spare one of them alive."

"And what are we to do when we have slain all our vassals?" asked the burly Hugo van Arckel with a laugh. "By my troth, we shall have to plow our land ourselves; a goodly prospect, truly!"

"Ha!" answered John van Raneel; "I have a good plan to remedy that. When Flanders shall be cleansed of this stiff-necked race, I mean to bring French peasants from Normandy, and establish them on my lands."

"And so we shall make Flanders a genuine province of France; that is a very good notion, and I will mention it to the King, that he may urge the other feudal lords to take the same course. I pledge myself that it will not be at all difficult."

"Surely not, Messire. Do you not think it a bright and excellent plan?"

"Yes, yes; and we will carry it out too; but let us first begin by making a clean sweep of the ground."

The features of Raoul de Nesle were working with inward emotion. The conversation greatly displeased him, for his noble heart revolted against such ferocity; and he exclaimed with ardor:

"But, Messire d'Artois, I take leave to ask you— are we knights or not? and is it seemly that we should set to work after a worse fashion than Saracens? You are carrying your ferocity too far; and I assure you that we shall become a scorn and a by-word to the whole world. Let us attack and defeat the Flemings; that will be sufficient for us. Let us not call them a herd of boors; they will give us trouble enough; and then, are they not in arms under the son of their prince?"

"Constable de Nesle," cried D'Artois in anger, "I know that you are exceedingly fond of these Flemings. It is a love which does you honor, of a truth! It is your daughter, surely, who has inspired your breast with such amiable benevolence."

Adela, the daughter of Raoul de Nesle, was married to William van Dendermonde, one of the sons of the old Count of Flanders.

"Messire d'Artois," answered Raoul, "although my daughter dwells in Flanders, that does not hinder me from being as good and true a Frenchman as any one here present—my sword has given sufficient proof of that; and I shall have to demand a reckoning at your hand for the scornful words you have uttered before these knights. But what now lies nearest my heart is the honor of knighthood itself; and I tell you that you are imperiling it by your conduct."

"What mean you?" exclaimed the general; "is it not true that you wish to spare these seditious traitors? Have they not deserved to die, since they have put to death seven thousand Frenchmen without mercy?"

"Beyond a doubt they have deserved death; and therefore will I avenge on them the honor of the crown of my prince; but they shall find their death only on the battlefield, and with arms in their hands.