The Legend of the Glorious Adventures of Tyl Ulenspiegel in the land of Flanders Part 41

In the meantime Ulenspiegel and Lamme continued their wanderings. Under the protection of their pa.s.sports, they entered one day into a little tavern built against the rocks of the Sambre, the which rocks are covered with trees here and there, and on the sign of the tavern was written mine host's name--MARLAIRE. When they had drunk many a flask of wine--wine of the Meuse, rather like Burgundy--and when they had eaten a large plate of fish, they fell talking to the innkeeper, who was a keen Papist but as talkative as he was pious because of the wine he had been drinking. And he kept on winking his eye maliciously. Ulenspiegel had a suspicion that all this winking portended something mysterious, and he made the fellow drink yet more, with the result that he fell to dancing and shouting with laughter, till at last he sat himself down at the table again, and, "Good Catholics," says he, "I drink to you."

"And to you we drink also," answered Lamme and Ulenspiegel.

"And I drink to the extinction of all heresy and rebellion."

"We will join you in that toast," answered Lamme and Ulenspiegel, who kept on filling up the goblets which mine host could never suffer to remain full.

"You are good fellows," said the innkeeper. "Let me drink to the health of your n.o.ble Generosities. For you must know that I derive some profit from all the wine that is drunk here. But where are your pa.s.sports?"

"Here they are," replied Ulenspiegel.

"With the Duke's signature and all," said the innkeeper. "Here's a health to the Duke."

"To the Duke," echoed Lamme and Ulenspiegel. And mine host went on talking:

"Answer me now, do you know what it is that they catch rats and mice in? Why in rat-traps to be sure, and mouse-traps. Who is the mouse then? The great heretic of Orange--and orange he is in very truth, like the flames of h.e.l.l! But G.o.d is on our side. They will come. Ho ho! A toast! Pour out the wine; I bake and burn with thirst. Come, drink, my masters. Fine little Protestant evangelists.... I said little. Fine valiant little fellows they are, and brave soldiers, st.u.r.dy as oaks.... I drink to them! Are you not going with them to the camp of the great heretic? I have certain pa.s.sports signed by him.... You will see."

"We are going to the camp," answered Ulenspiegel.

"Yes, they will do their work well. And one fine night, if the opportunity presents itself"--and here the innkeeper whistled, and made a gesture as of one man cutting another's throat--"cold steel, I tell you. It's that that shall prevent the black bird of Na.s.sau from singing any more. Come, drink again."

"You're a gay fellow," said Ulenspiegel, "in spite of being married."

The innkeeper said:

"I am neither married nor have I ever been. The secrets of Princes are safe with me. Drink! But if I had a wife she would steal my secrets from under my pillow to get me hanged and herself made widow before the time. Long live G.o.d! They will come.... But where are the new pa.s.sports? On my heart of a Christian. Drink! They are there, there I tell you. One hundred paces along the road near by Marche-les-Dames. Do you see them? Drink again!"

"Drink?" said Ulenspiegel. "Yes, I drink and drink and drink. To the King, to the Duke, to the Protestant preachers, and to Vent d'acier--Wind of Lead. And I drink to thee and to me, to the wine and the bottle that holds it. But why? It is you that have stopped drinking!"

And at each new toast Ulenspiegel filled up the gla.s.s of the innkeeper, who emptied it straightway.

Ulenspiegel looked at him for some time, then rose and said to Lamme: "Come, Lamme, it is time for us to be off. He is asleep." But when they were outside, "He has no wife," Ulenspiegel continued. "We are safe. The night is at hand. Did you hear what the rascal said? And do you rightly understand who these three preachers are? Do you realize that they are to come along the bank of the Meuse from Marche-les-Dames, and that it will be our part to await them on the road? And then for Vent d'acier--Wind of Lead--to start his whistling?"

"Yes," said Lamme.

"It is for us to save the Prince's life," said Ulenspiegel.

"Yes," said Lamme.

"Wait," said Ulenspiegel. "You take my arquebus, and go and hide in the undergrowth among the rocks. Load it with two shots, and shoot when you hear me caw and crow."

"I will," said Lamme.

And so saying he disappeared into the undergrowth. And Ulenspiegel could hear quite clearly the click of the gun as Lamme loaded it.

"Do you see them coming?" he asked presently.

"I see them," answered Lamme. "There are three of them, marching together like soldiers, and one of them is much taller than the others."

Ulenspiegel sat himself down by the side of the road, with his legs stretched out in front of him, muttering his prayers on a rosary, just like beggars do. And he held his hat between his knees. And when the three evangelists pa.s.sed in front of him, he held out his hat as though asking for alms; but they gave him nothing. Then Ulenspiegel got up and addressed them most piteously:

"Kind sirs," he said, "do not refuse a patard to a poor quarryman who has recently had an accident and broken his back by falling down a mine. The people in this part of the world are hard of heart, and they have not been willing to give me anything to relieve my distress. Alas! Give me but a patard, and I will say many prayers for you. And G.o.d will keep you happy, all your lives long, kind friends!"

"My son," said one of the evangelists, "there can be no happiness for us in this world so long as the Pope and the Inquisition remain in power."

Ulenspiegel heaved another sigh:

"Alas! What are you saying, my lords? Do not speak so loud, if it please you. But give me a patard."

"My son," replied one of the evangelists, he that was the smallest of the three, and of a very warlike countenance, "we poor martyrs carry no patards save only just enough to keep us going on our journey."

At this Ulenspiegel threw himself on to his knees in front of them.

"Give me your blessing then," he said.

The three evangelists laid their hands upon the head of Ulenspiegel, albeit with little signs of devotion.

Now Ulenspiegel noticed that although they were lean of figure, these men all had very fat stomachs, so he rose from his knees, and then pretended to stumble, knocking against the body of the tall evangelist as he did so. At that a merry tinkle of coin was distinctly audible. Thereupon Ulenspiegel raised himself to his full height and drew his dagger.

"My good man," he said, "it is cold and I am but poorly clad; but methinks you have too much about you. Give me some of your wool, that I may get a cloak made for me. I am a Beggarman. Long live the Beggarmen!" The tall evangelist made answer:

"You c.o.c.k of a Beggarman, you carry your crest proudly forsooth, and we are going to cut it off for you!"

"Cut it off then," cried Ulenspiegel, giving ground, "but let me warn you that trusty Wind of Lead is going to sing for you or ever he sings for the Prince my master! Beggar I am! Long live the Beggarmen!"

The three evangelists were astounded and cried out to each other: "How does he know? We are betrayed! Kill him! Long live the Ma.s.s!" And each man drew forth from beneath his hose a sharp dagger. But Ulenspiegel, without waiting for them to attack him, gave ground towards the bushes where Lamme was hidden, and when he judged that the three evangelists were within range of the arquebus, he cried out: "Crows, black crows, the Wind of Lead is going to whistle. I sing your bitter end!"

Then he cawed like a crow. And a shot rang out from the bushes, and the tall evangelist fell p.r.o.ne on the earth. The next moment followed a second shot, which accounted in the same way for the second.

And from among the bushes Ulenspiegel saw the jolly face of Lamme, and his arm raised as he hastily reloaded his arquebus. And from the midst of the dark shrubbery a puff of blue smoke mounted into the air.

There now remained but one evangelist, and he was in a furious rage, and tried to cut at Ulenspiegel with all his might. But Ulenspiegel cried:

"Wind of Steel or Wind of Lead, which matters it? Either way you shall quit this world for another, you shameless murderer!"

And he attacked the foe and defended himself most bravely. So they stood on the roadway, inflexible, face to face, giving and parrying blows. Now Ulenspiegel was covered with blood, for his opponent was an experienced fencer, and had wounded him on the hands and on the legs. But Ulenspiegel attacked and defended himself like a lion. Still the blood which began to flow from his head blinded him, and he retreated continually, trying to wipe away the blood with his left hand but every moment feeling weaker. And he would most certainly have been killed had not Lamme brought down the third evangelist with another shot from his arquebus.

And Ulenspiegel saw him fall, and heard him vomit forth blasphemies and blood, and the white froth of death. And once again the blue smoke drifted up above the dark shrubbery, in the midst of which Lamme displayed yet again his jolly face.

"Have you finished him off?" he asked.

"Yes, my son," replied Ulenspiegel, "but come...."

Lamme, then, coming out of his hiding-place, saw Ulenspiegel all covered with blood. He ran like a stag, in spite of his fat belly, and came to Ulenspiegel where he sat by the three dead men.

"He is wounded!" Lamme cried. "My gentle friend is wounded by the rascally murderer." And then, with a vicious kick at the jaw of the evangelist who lay nearest to him: "You cannot answer me, Ulenspiegel? Are you going to die, my son? Where is the ointment! Ha! I remember now. It is at the bottom of his satchel under the sausages. Can't you hear me speak, Ulenspiegel? Alas! there is no warm water here to wash your wound, and no way of getting any. The water of the Sambre will have to do instead. But speak to me, my friend. You are not so badly hurt after all, surely. A little water--there, it's cold, isn't it? But he is waking up. It's I, your friend; and your enemies are all dead! Oh, where is some linen? Some linen to bind up his wounds. There isn't any. What am I to do? Ah! my s.h.i.+rt, that must serve."