Being at Heyst, upon the dunes, Ulenspiegel and Lamme see, coming from Ostend, from Blanckenberghe, from Knokke, many fishing boats full of armed men, adherents of the Beggars of Zealand, who wear in their headgear the silver crescent with this inscription: “Better to serve the Turk than the Pope.”

Ulenspiegel is glad; he whistles like the lark; from all sides answers the warlike clarion of the cock.

The boats, sailing or fishing and selling their fish, come to land, one after the other, at Emden. There William of Blois is detained, who is equipping a ship under commission from the Prince of Orange.

Très-Long, having been at Emden for eleven weeks, was bitterly sick of waiting. He went from his ship to land and from the land to his ship, like a bear on a chain.

Ulenspiegel and Lamme, wandering about on the quays, saw there a lord of a jovial visage, somewhat melancholy and at a loss to heave up one of the paving-stones of the quay with a pikestaff. Not succeeding in this he still bent every effort to carry out his undertaking, while a dog gnawed at a bone behind him.

Ulenspiegel came to the dog and pretended to want to rob him of his bone. The dog growls; Ulenspiegel does not stop: the dog makes a great uproar of doggish wrath.

The lord, turning at the noise, said to Ulenspiegel:

“What good does it do thee to torment this beast?”

“What good does it do you, Messire, to torment this pavement?”

“It is not the same thing at all,” said the lord.

“The difference is not extreme,” replied Ulenspiegel; “if the dog sets store by his bone and wants to keep it, this pavement holds to its quay and is fain to remain on it. And it is the very least that folk like us may do, turning to busy ourselves about a dog when folk like you busy yourselves about a paving stone.”

Lamme remained behind Ulenspiegel, not daring to speak.

“Who art thou?” asked the lord.

“I am Thyl Ulenspiegel, the son of Claes, who died in the flames for his faith.”

And he whistled like the lark and the lord crowed like the cock.

“I am Admiral Très-Long,” said he; “what wouldst thou with me?”

Ulenspiegel narrated to him his adventures, and gave him five hundred carolus.

“Who is this big man?” asked Très-Long, pointing a finger at Lamme.

“My comrade and friend,” replied Ulenspiegel: “he desires, like myself, to sing on your ship, with the fine voice of a musket, the song of deliverance for the land of our fathers.”

“Ye are brave men both,” said Très-Long, “and ye shall go on my ship.”

They were then in the month of February; sharp was the wind, keen the frost. After three weeks of grudging waiting Très-Long left Emden under protest. Thinking to enter the Texel, he went out from Vlie, but was forced to go in to Wieringen, where his ship was locked up in the ice.

Soon there was a merry spectacle all about: sledges and skaters all in velvet; women skating in jackets and skirts broidered with gold, pearl, scarlet, azure; lads and lasses went, came, glided, laughed, following one another in line, or two by two, in pairs, singing the song of love upon the ice, or going to eat and drink in booths decked out with flags, brandy, oranges, figs, peperkoek, schols, eggs, hot vegetables, and eete-koeken, which are pancakes and pickled vegetables, while all about them sleds and sailing sleighs made the ice cry out under their runners.

Lamme, seeking his wife, went wandering on skates like the jolly men and women, but he fell often.

Meanwhile, Ulenspiegel went to drink and to feed in a small inn on the quay where he had not to pay too dear for his daily rations; and he liked to talk with the old baesine.

One Sunday about nine he went in there asking them to give him his dinner.

“But,” said he to a pretty woman coming forward to serve him, “baesine rejuvenated, what hast thou done with thy old wrinkles? Thy mouth hath all its teeth, white and girlish, and its lips are red as cherries. Is it for me, that soft and cunning smile?”

“No, no,” said she; “but what must I give you?”

“Thyself,” said he.

The woman answered:

“That would be too much for a starveling like you; would you not like other meat?”

Ulenspiegel making no reply:

“What have you done,” she said, “with that handsome, well-made, corpulent man whom I often saw with you?”

“Lamme?” said he.

“What have you done with him?” she said.

Ulenspiegel replied:

“He eats, in the booths, hard eggs, smoked eels, salt fish, zuertjes, and all that he can put under his tooth; and all to look for his wife. Why art thou not his wife, pretty one? Wouldst thou like fifty florins? Wouldst thou like a gold necklace?”

But she, crossing herself:

“I am not to buy or to take,” said she.

“Dost thou love naught?” said he.

“I love thee as my neighbour, but I love above all my Lord Christ and Madame the Virgin, who bid me live a chaste life. Hard and heavy are its duties, but God is our helper, we poor women. Yet there are some that succumb. Is thy big friend happy?”

Ulenspiegel replied:

“He is gay when he is eating, sad when fasting, and always pensive. But thou, art thou happy or sad?”

“We women,” said she, “are slaves of that that rules us!”

“The moon?” said he.

“Aye,” said she.

“I am going to tell Lamme to come to see thee.”

“Do not so,” said she; “he would weep and I in likewise.”

“Didst thou ever see his wife?” asked Ulenspiegel.

Sighing, she answered:

“She sinned with him and was condemned to a cruel penance. She knows that he goeth on the sea for the triumph of heresy, and that is a hard thing for a Christian heart to think on. Defend him if he is attacked; care for him if he is wounded: his wife bade me make this request of you.”

“Lamme is my brother and my friend,” replied Ulenspiegel.

“Ah!” she said, “why do ye not return to the bosom of our Mother Holy Church?”

“She devours her children,” answered Ulenspiegel.

And he went his way.

One morning in March, since the wind, that was blowing sharp and cutting, ceased not to thicken the ice, and Très-Long’s ship could not leave, the sailors and the soldiers of the vessel were holding feasting and revel on sledges and on skates.

Ulenspiegel was at the inn, and the pretty woman said to him, all woeful and as if bereft of her wits:

“Poor Lamme! poor Ulenspiegel!”

“Why do you lament?” asked he.

“Alas! Alas!” said she, “why do ye not believe in the mass. Ye would go to paradise, without a doubt, and I could save you in this life.”

Seeing her go to the door and listen attentively, Ulenspiegel said to her:

“It is not the snow falling that you are listening to?”

“No,” said she.

“It is not the moaning wind that you give ear to?”

“No,” she said again.

“Nor to the merry din that our valiant sailors are making in the tavern close by?”

“Death cometh as a thief,” she said.

“Death!” said Ulenspiegel. “I do not understand thee; come inside and speak.”

“They are there,” she said.

“Who?”

“Who?” she answered. “The soldiers of Simonen-Bol, who are to come, in the name of the duke, to throw themselves on all of you; if you are so well treated here, it is like the bullocks that are meant for the slaughter. Ah! why,” said she all in tears, “why did I not know it save but just now.”

“Do not weep, nor cry out,” said Ulenspiegel, “and stay where you are!”

“Do not betray me,” said she.

Ulenspiegel went out from her house, ran, made his way to all the booths and taverns, whispering into the ears of the seamen and the soldiers these words: “The Spaniard is coming.”

All ran to the ship, preparing with the utmost haste all that was needed for battle, and they awaited the enemy. Ulenspiegel said to Lamme:

“Seest thou yon pretty woman standing upon the quay, with her black dress embroidered with scarlet, and hiding her face under her white hood?”

“It is all one to me,” replied Lamme. “I am cold; I want to sleep.”

And he rolled his head up in his opperst-kleed. And like that he was as a man deaf.

Ulenspiegel then recognized the woman and called to her from the ship:

“Dost thou wish to follow us?”

“To the grave,” said she, “but I cannot…”

“Thou wouldst do well,” said Ulenspiegel; “yet think of this: when the nightingale stays in the forest, it is happy and sings; but if it leaves the forest and risks its little wings in the wind of the great sea, it breaks them and dies.”

“I have sung in my house,” said she, “and would sing outside if I could.” Then drawing closer to the ship: “Take this ointment,” she said, “for thyself and thy friend who sleeps when he should wake…”

And she went away saying:

“Lamme! Lamme! God keep thee from harm; come back safe.”

And she uncovered her face.

“My wife, my wife!” cried Lamme.

And he would have leaped down on the ice.

“Thy faithful wife!” said she.

And she ran away swiftly.

Lamme would have leaped from off the deck down on the ice, but he was prevented by a soldier, who held him back by his opperst-kleed. He cried, wept, implored that he might be given leave to go. But the provost said to him:

“Thou shalt be hanged if thou dost leave the ship.”

Again Lamme would have cast himself on the ice, but an old Beggar held him back, saying to him:

“The floor is damp, you might get your feet wet.”

And Lamme fell on his behind, weeping and saying without ceasing:

“My wife, my wife! let me go to my wife!”

“Thou shalt see her again,” said Ulenspiegel. “She loves thee, but she loves God more than thee.”

“The mad she-devil,” cried Lamme. “If she loves God more than her husband, why does she show herself to me lovely and desirable? And if she loves me, why does she leave me?”

“Dost thou see clear in a deep well?” asked Ulenspiegel.

“Alas!” said Lamme, “I shall die before long.”

And he stayed upon the deck, livid and distraught.

Meanwhile, had come up the men of Simonen-Bol, with a great artillery.

They fired against the ship, which replied to them. And their cannon balls broke the ice all about it. Towards evening a warm rain fell.

The wind blowing from the west, the sea grew angry under the ice, and heaved it up in immense blocks, which were seen rising up on high, falling back again, clashing against one another, one mounting on top of another, not without peril to the ship, which when dawn broke through the clouds of night, opened out its canvas wings like a bird of freedom and sailed towards the free ocean.

There they joined up with the fleet of Messire de Lumey de la Marche, admiral of Holland and Zealand, and chief and captain-general, and as such carrying a lantern at his ship’s peak.

“Look well at him, my son,” said Ulenspiegel; “that one will never spare thee, if thou shouldst wish to leave the ship against orders. Hearest thou his voice breaking forth like thunder? See how broad and strong he is in his great stature! Look at his long hands with the crooked nails! See his round eyes, eagle eyes and cold, and his long pointed beard that he means to leave to grow until he has hanged all the monks and priests to avenge the death of the two counts! See him redoubtable and cruel; he will have thee hanged high on a short rope, if thou dost continue to whine and cry always: ‘My wife!’”

“My son,” replied Lamme, “he that talks of a halter for his neighbour has already the hempen cravat on his own neck.”

“Thou thyself shalt be the first to wear it. Such is my vow as a friend,” said Ulenspiegel.

“I shall see thee on the gallows,” replied Lamme, “thrust out thy poisonous tongue a fathom out of thy mouth.”

And both were in mere jest.

On that day Très-Long’s ship took a ship from Biscay laden with mercury, gold dust, wines, and spices. And the ship was emptied of its marrow, men, and booty, as a beef bone under a lion’s teeth.

It was at this time also that the duke ordained in the Low Countries cruel and abominable imposts, obliging all the inhabitants who sold real or personal estate to pay one thousand florins in ten thousand. And this tax was a permanent one. All sellers and buyers whatsoever must pay the king the tenth part of the purchase price, and it was said among the people that if goods were sold ten times within a week the king should have all.

And thus commerce and industry took the way towards Ruin and Death.

And the Beggars took Briele, a strong seaboard fortress that was christened the Orchard of Freedom.

II

In the first days of May, under a clear sky, with the ship sailing proudly along the sea, Ulenspiegel sang:

“The ashes beat upon my heart.
The butchers are come; they have struck
With poignard, fire, violence, the sword.
They have paid for foulest spying.
Where once were Love and Faith, mild virtues,
They have set Denunciation and Mistrust.
May the butchers be smitten,
Beat the drum of war.

“Long live the Beggar! Beat upon the drum!
Briele is taken,
Flessingue, too, the key of the Scheldt;
God is good, Camp-Veere is taken,
Where Zealand kept her artillery!
We have bullets, powder, and shot,
Iron shot and leaden shot.
God is with us, who then is against?

“Beat upon the drum of war and glory!
Long live the Beggar! Beat upon the drum!

“The sword is drawn, be our hearts high,
Firm be our arms, the sword is drawn.
Out upon the tenth tithe, the whole of ruin,
Death to the butcher, halter to the spoiler,
For a perjured king a rebel folk.
The sword is drawn for our rights,
For our houses, our wives, and our children.
The sword is drawn, beat upon the drum!

“High are our hearts, stout are our arms.
Out upon the tenth tithe, out upon the infamous pardon.
Beat upon the drum of war, beat upon the drum!”

“Aye, good fellows and friends,” said Ulenspiegel; “aye, they have set up at Antwerp, before the Townhall, a dazzling scaffold covered with red cloth; the duke is seated upon it like a king upon his throne in the midst of liverymen and soldiers. Meaning to smile benevolently, he makes a sour grimace. Beat upon the war drum!

“He hath accorded a pardon, make silence, his gilded cuirass shines in the sun; the grand provost is on horseback beside the dais; lo here cometh the herald with his kettle-drums; he reads; it is a pardon for all those that have not sinned; the others will be punished cruelly.

“Oyez, good fellows, he reads the edict that orders, on penalty as for rebellion, the payment of the tenth and twentieth deniers.”

And Ulenspiegel sang:

“O Duke! hearest thou the voice of the people,
The strong dull clamour? Tis the sea that rises
In the hour of the mighty surges.
Enough of gold, enough of blood.
Enough of ruins. Beat upon the drum!
The sword is drawn. Beat upon the drum of woe!

“It is the nails tearing the bleeding wound,
Robbery after murder. Must thou then
Mix all our gold with our blood for your drink?
We moved in ways of duty, faithful and true
To the King’s Majesty. His Majesty is perjured,
We are free of our oaths. Beat upon the drum of war.

“Duke of Alba, bloody duke,
See these booths, these shops shut fast,
See these brewers, bakers, grocers,
Refusing to sell so as not to pay.
Who then salutes thee when thou art passing?
No man. Feelest thou, like a steaming plague
Hate and Scorn enwrap thee round?

“The fair land of Flanders,
The gay country of Brabant,
Are sad as graveyards.
There where of old, in freedom’s days,
Sang the viols, squealed the fifes,
There are silence now and death.
Beat upon the drum of war.

“Instead of jolly faces
Of drinkers, and singing lovers
There are pallid faces now
Of men that wait, resigned,
The stroke of the sword of injustice.
Beat upon the drum of war.

“No man now hears in the taverns
The jolly clink of pots,
Nor the clear voices of girls
Singing in bands about the streets.
And Brabant and Flanders, lands of mirth,
Are become the lands of tears.
Beat upon the drum of woe.

“Land of our fathers, sufferer beloved,
Stoop not your brow to the murderer’s foot,
Toilsome bees, rush in your swarms,
Upon the hornets from Spain.
Corpses of women and girls buried alive,
Cry out to Christ: ‘Vengeance!’

“Wander in the fields by night, poor souls,
Cry unto God! The arm quivers to strike,
The sword is drawn, Duke; we will tear out thy entrails
And flog thy face with them.
Beat upon the drum. The sword is drawn.
Beat upon the drum. Long live the Beggar!”

And all the seamen and the soldiers of Ulenspiegel’s ship and of the other ships sang likewise:

“The sword is drawn, long live the Beggar!”

And their voices growled like a thunder of deliverance.

III

The world was in January, the cruel month that freezes the calf in the cow’s belly. It had snowed, and frozen over and above. The lads were taking with birdlime sparrows seeking some poor food on the hardened snow, and carried off this game into their cottages. Against the gray clear sky stood out motionless the skeletons of the trees, whose branches were covered with snowy cushions that covered also the cottages and the coping of walls on which were seen the prints of the paws of cats, which, like the boys, were hunting sparrows over the snow. At a distance the meadows were hidden over by this marvellous fleece, keeping the earth warm against the bitter cold of winter. The smoke of houses and cottages rose up black into the sky, and there was no noise heard of any kind.

And Katheline and Nele were alone in their house; and Katheline, nodding her head, said:

“Hans, my heart turns to thee. Thou must give back the seven hundred carolus to Ulenspiegel, the son of Soetkin. If thou art poor, come none the less that I may see thy shining face. Take away the fire, my head burns. Alas! where are thy snow-cold kisses? Where is thy icy body, Hans, my beloved?”

And she kept at the window. Suddenly there passed, running at full speed, a voet-looper, a courier carrying bells at his belt, and calling out:

“Here cometh the bailiff, the high bailiff of Damme!”

And he went thus as far as the Townhall, so as to assemble there the burgomasters and the sheriffs.

Then in the thick silence Nele heard two clarions sound. All the people of Damme came to their doors, believing it was His Majesty the king who announced himself by such flourishes.

And Katheline also went to the door with Nele. From afar they saw resplendent horsemen riding in a band, and before them, also on horseback, a personage covered in an opperst-kleed of black velvet laced with fine gold, and boots of yellow calfskin furred with marten. And they recognized the high bailiff.

Behind him there rode young lords, who, notwithstanding the ordinance of his late Imperial Majesty, wore on their velvet accoutrements embroideries, trimmings, bands, edgings, of gold, of silver, and of silk. And their opperst-kleederen, under their outer garments, were edged with fur like those of the bailiff. They rode gaily along, shaking in the wind the long ostrich feathers that adorned their bonnets, gold buttoned and gold laced.

And they seemed to be all of them good friends and companions of the grand bailiff, and notably a lord of sharp visage clad in green velvet trimmed with gold lace, and a cloak of black velvet like his bonnet adorned with long plumes. And he had a nose shaped like a vulture’s beak, a thin mouth, red hair, a pale face, and haughty carriage.

While the troop of these lords was passing in front of Katheline’s house suddenly she darted to the bridle of the pale lord’s horse, and beside herself with joy, she cried out:

“Hans! my beloved, I knew it; thou art back. Thou art goodly thus in velvet and all in gold like a sun upon the snow! Dost thou bring me the seven hundred carolus? Shall I hear thee once more crying like the sea-eagle?”

The high bailiff stopped the troop of gentlemen, and the pale lord said:

“What doth this beggar want with me?”

But Katheline, still keeping hold of the horse by the bridle:

“Do not go away again,” said she, “I have wept so much for thee. Sweet nights, my beloved, kisses of snow – body of ice. The child is here!”

And she pointed him to Nele who was looking at him in anger, for he had raised his whip to Katheline: but Katheline, weeping:

“Ah!” said she, “dost thou not remember at all? Have pity on thy handmaiden. Take her with thee wherever thou wilt. Take away the fire, Hans; pity!”

“Begone!” said he.

And he drove his horse on so hard that Katheline, loosing the bridle, fell; and the horse stepped on her and gave her a bloody wound in the forehead.

The bailiff then said to the pale lord:

“Messire, do you know this woman?”

“I do not know her at all,” said he, “doubtless it is some mad creature.”

But Nele, having raised Katheline from the ground:

“If this woman is mad, I am not, Monseigneur, and I pray that I may die here of this snow that I eat” – and she took up snow in her fingers – “if this man has not known my mother, if he did not borrow all her money, if he did not kill Claes’s dog in order to take from the wall of the well at our house seven hundred carolus belonging to the poor dead man.”

“Hans, my darling,” wept Katheline, bleeding, and on her knees, “Hans, my beloved, give me the kiss of peace: see the blood flowing: my soul has made the hole and would fain come forth: I shall die presently: leave me not.” Then in a whisper: “Long ago thou didst slay thy comrade for jealousy, along by the dyke.” And she stretched out her finger in the direction of Dudzeele. “Thou didst love me well in those days.”

And she caught the gentleman’s knee and embraced it, and she took his boot and kissed it.

“What is this slain man?” asked the high bailiff.

“I do not know, Monseigneur,” said he. “We have nothing to do with the talk of this beggarwoman; let us forward.”

The populace was assembling around them; the townsmen great and small, artisans and rustics, taking Katheline’s part, cried out:

“Justice, Monseigneur Bailiff, justice.”

And the bailiff said to Nele:

“What is this slain man? Speak in accordance with God and the truth.”

Nele spoke and said, pointing to the pale gentleman:

“This man came every Saturday to the keet to see my mother and to take her money: he killed a friend of his, Hilbert by name, in the field of Servaes van der Vichte, not for love, as this innocent distracted woman thinks, but to have for himself alone the seven hundred carolus.”

And Nele told of Katheline’s loves and what she heard when she was hidden by night behind the dyke that ran through the field of Servaes van der Vichte.

“Nele is bad,” said Katheline; “she speaks hardly of Hans, her father.”

“I swear,” said Nele, “that he used to cry like a sea-eagle to announce his presence.”

“Thou liest,” said the gentleman.

“Oh, no!” said Nele, “and monseigneur the bailiff and all these noble lords here present see it well: thou art pale not for cold, but with fear. Whence comes it that thy face no longer shines: thou hast then lost thy magic compound wherewith thou wast wont to rub it that it might appear bright, like the waves in summer when it thunders? But sorcerer accursed, thou shalt be burned before the doors of the Townhall. ’Tis thou that didst cause Soetkin’s death, thou that didst reduce her orphan son to want; thou, a man of noble rank, doubtless, and who wast wont to come to us burgesses to bring my mother money once only and to take money from her all the other times.”

“Hans,” said Katheline, “thou wilt bring me again to the Sabbath and wilt rub me again with ointment; do not listen to Nele, she is bad: thou seest the blood, the soul has made the hole and would come forth: I shall die soon and I shall go into limbo where it burneth not.”

“Hold thy tongue, mad witch, I know thee not,” said the gentleman, “and know not what thou wouldst say.”

“And yet,” said Nele, “it was thou that camest with a companion and wouldst have given him to me for a husband: thou knowest that I would have none of him; what did he do, thy friend Hilbert, what did he do with his eyes after I had sunk my nails into them?”

“Nele is bad,” said Katheline, “do not believe her, Hans, my darling: she is angry against Hilbert who would have taken her by force, but Hilbert cannot do it now; the worms have eaten him: and Hilbert was ugly. Hans, my darling, thou alone art goodly; Nele is bad.”

Upon this the bailiff said:

“Women, go in peace.”

But Katheline would by no means leave the place where her friend was. And they must needs bring her to her house by force.

And all the people there assembled cried out:

“Justice, Monseigneur, justice!”

The constables of the commune having come up at the noise, the bailiff bade them remain, and he said to the lords and gentlemen:

“Messeigneurs and Messires, notwithstanding all privileges protecting the illustrious order of nobility in the country of Flanders I must needs, upon the accusations and especially upon that of witchcraft, laid against Messire Joos Damman, have his person apprehended until he be judged according to the laws and ordinances of the Empire. Give me your sword, Messire Joos.”

“Monseigneur Bailiff,” said Joos Damman, with the utmost hauteur and pride of nobility, “in apprehending my person you are transgressing the law of Flanders, for you are not yourself a judge. Now you are aware that it is permitted to arrest without a warrant from a judge only false coiners, robbers on public roads and highways; fire-raisers, ravishers of women; gendarmes deserting their captain; enchanters making use of poison to poison water springs; monks or nuns that have renounced their vows and banished men. And now, Messires and Messeigneurs, defend me!”

Some would have obeyed, but the bailiff said to them:

“Messeigneurs and Messires, as representing here our king, count, and overlord, to whom is reserved the decision of difficult cases, I command and order you, upon pain of being proclaimed rebels, to return your swords to their scabbards.”

The gentlemen having obeyed, and Messire Joos Damman still hesitating, the people cried out:

“Justice, Monseigneur, justice; let him give up his sword.”

He did so then against his will, and dismounting from his horse, he was brought by two constables to the prison of the commune.

All the same, he was not shut up in the cellars, but in a barred chamber, where he had, for payment, a good fire, a good bed, and good food, the half of which the gaoler took.