Chapter VIII: The Banquet

Twice more in the ensuing days did Brederode and his following present themselves at the Brabant palace, the first time to receive the Petition which was returned to them with Margaret's answer.

Madame Parma, as usual, referred everything to the King; the Petition should be forwarded to His Majesty, from whose well-known clemency there was everything to be hoped.

As for herself, she had no authority to suspend the Inquisition nor the Edicts, but she would give orders to the Inquisitors to behave with discretion; meanwhile she adjured the petitioners to act as men loyal to King and Church.

Brederode's third audience was for the purpose of answering this not very satisfactory concession; he urged the Regent to cease all religious persecution until the decision of the King arrived, to which Her Highness replied she could not go beyond her former answer, but that Count Hoogstraaten should show them the instructions to the Inquisitors, commanding them to moderation.

There was nothing more to be obtained from Madame Parma, and the confederates separated with such hopes as they were able to cherish, and such expectations of the good results of Margaret's letter to the King as their knowledge of Philip allowed them to entertain.

The evening of the day that Brederode had been for the last time to the Brabant palace, the Prince of Orange was dining with Mansfeld, who was sick with an inflamed eye; his companions were Egmont and Hoorne, and the four nobles discussed with gloom and foreboding the situation which Brederode and his fellow-petitioners had taken with such reckless gaiety.

Egmont was the most uneasy of all; the memory of his late visit to Spain and how deftly Philip had twisted him to his will still rankled in his mind. He had seen that the King had not kept one of the lavish promises he had then made, yet the Count, though conscious of being fooled (he had utterly refused to go again to Madrid), yet could not wholly disbelieve in Philip nor bring himself to any action that might seem disloyal to His Majesty.

He had refused to associate himself in any way with Brederode's party, and he was one of the few Stadtholders who obeyed Philip by using his civil authority to enforce the decrees of the Inquisition.

Yet he saw as well as any man the utter ruin to which Philip's policy was bringing the Netherlands; his Brussels palace was full of refugee heretics, and he was still regarded by the people as their hero and their possible champion.

He even ventured now to predict possible concession as the result of the forwarding of the Request or Petition to Philip.

William glanced at him with smiling eyes in a manner that brought the blood to Egmont's cheek.

"You speak against your own wit," remarked the Prince quietly. "You _know_ that the King will not be moved from his purpose by the Petition of these young men, led by such as Brederode."

"It were better for all," interposed Count Hoorne sourly, "if Brederode had kept out of politics."

"Politics?" smiled William. "Poor Brederode knows little of politics! But he is brave and loyal, Count; I can conceive good uses for Brederode."

"His present uses," said Egmont bitterly, "seem to be to embroil us all. You know of this banquet to-night?"

"Yes," answered Mansfeld bitterly. "My son is there—I would to God he were elsewhere."

"There will be much treason talked," said Hoorne. "And Brederode in wine is no better than a madman."

William glanced at the clock in the corner.

"We are almost due at the council chamber," he said, rising.

"You work late," remarked Mansfeld.

"And to little purpose," said Hoorne, gloomily pulling at his black beard. "Eh, Prince?"

"To little purpose, truly," replied William gravely. "The affairs of the Netherlands are settled in Philip's Cabinet in Madrid, not in the council chamber at Brussels."

He smiled to himself thoughtfully and picked up his long velvet mantle from one of the brocade chairs.

"We will go round by the horse market," he added, "and see how this banquet progresses."

"Nay, I beseech you," said Mansfeld eagerly. "Keep away from all such dangerous sport!"

"Not sport nor pleasure," replied the Prince, "but Hoogstraaten is there and I would bring him away. And if the company is riotous I will disperse them," he added, with a sure and entirely unconscious certainty of power.

Mansfeld shrugged his shoulders; his inflamed and bandaged eye irritated him, and he was deeply vexed at his son's connexion with the confederates.

"This is an affair well enough for boys," he returned peevishly—"boys and roysterers—but the Regent's councillors had best keep away."

William knew perfectly well what Brederode's banquet was likely to be, and how it would be regarded by the government; he knew also that Hoogstraaten had been persuaded to attend against his will, and wished to save him from too deep an implication in the riots in which the feast would undoubtedly end; nor was William without some kindly feeling for Brederode and a desire to check him in his dangerous recklessness.

Hoorne disliked Brederode, but he would gladly have done a service to the gallant Hoogstraaten, and Egmont was always eager to curb any display against the Government, so the three nobles, on taking leave of Mansfeld, set out towards the Culemburg palace where Brederode held his dangerous feast.

They had no sooner dismounted and crossed the courtyard of the mansion than the tumultuous uproar that reached their ears more than justified their apprehensions.

The banquet of the confederates had indeed degenerated into a riot and an orgy.

An argument had been raised as to what name the party, now so loosely designated, was to be called, and at the height of the discussion Brederode had sprung to his feet and related what Barlaymont had said when they first came into the presence of Madame Parma—

"'What, is Your Highness afraid of these beggars! People of little power who cannot manage their own estates!'"

When this sarcasm of one of their greatest enemies was repeated to them, the company, inflamed with wine, were strung up to a fever pitch of fury at the insult which had been offered them—all gentlemen of rank and noble blood.

Brederode seized the moment; taking a leathern wallet and a wooden bowl from one of his pages, he held them aloft over the glittering feast.

"Very well!" he cried. "They call us beggars! We will make them fear that word! We will contend against the Inquisition, and be loyal to the King until we are beggars indeed!"

He then filled the bowl with wine and drained it to the health of the beggars.

The party name was received with mad enthusiasm; it took the humour of all present; amid yells of approval and shouts of applause the wooden bowl was handed from one to another and each drank to the new party name. When the circuit of the table had been completed the bowl and wallet were fastened to one of the pillars which supported the ceiling, and the rites by which the petitioners received their new name were concluded by each member of the company hurling some salt and bread into his goblet, and repeating two lines of doggerel which some one's heated wits had instantly produced——

"Par le sel, par le pain, par le besache,
Les gueulx ne changeront quoy qu'on se fache!"

This ceremony was at the height of unrestrained and reckless merriment, furious and unlimited enthusiasm, when the three nobles entered the banqueting hall.

It was a wild and gorgeous sight on which they looked—a sight all of them would rather not have beheld.

It was the chamber in which Francis Junius had preached to a group of young Protestant nobles on Alexander of Parma's wedding day, but it was more suited to the present scene of unlicensed revelry than it had been to that sincere and ardent gathering.

The ceiling and the upper portion of the walls had been painted by an Italian artist in the precise and airy style of decoration which adorned the Roman palaces—delicate scroll-work, arabesques, birds and animals interwoven wonderfully on a ground of deep blue and burnished gold.

The lower part of the walls were hung with tapestry of Arras on brass rods, each panel representing a scene in the life of Jason, and between the tapestries were pillars with candle sconces in heavy copper and brass, fashioned as flowers and figures, which lit the vast apartment that was almost entirely occupied by an immense table at which three hundred gentlemen were seated.

At either end of the room, each side of the folding-doors, stood buffets, still loaded with fruit, sweets, and wines, and attended by pages; round the wall, at intervals, stood the servants in groups of twos and threes.

The table itself was lit by a huge lamp of rock crystal supported by four flying harpies, half gold, and half silver, with wings and tails shining in red enamel. This magnificent light illuminated the whole table and left in shadow only the extreme centre, where stood a gorgeous piece of confectionery, the master-effort of Count Culemburg's cook, representing the confederacy entering the gates of the Brabant palace, the little figures—each of which was a portrait—being moulded out of sugar, cunningly coloured and adorned with cuttings of candied fruits.

This, on the huge raised comport of embossed gold, was untouched, but for the rest the table was in the wildest disorder.

Almost every thread of the cloth of Brussel's lace was stained with wine; gold goblets, crystal beakers, dishes of fruit, of cakes, of sweetmeats were scattered right and left; at one end two young men were dancing on the table, clinging to each other, while their unsteady feet knocked over glasses and plates; several had mounted on the backs of their chairs, and sat with their feet on the table edge, while they shouted at the top of their voices; others, their caps turned inside out and their doublets torn open, danced about the room vowing eternal friendship to each other and eternal fidelity to the party; a few retained their places at the table and, with beakers at their lips, pledged again and again the party of "the beggars"; most of them had baptized a neighbour into the confederacy by pouring wine over his shoulders and head, so that flushed faces, rich clothes, and tumbled locks alike dripped red.

The whole scene seemed coloured red—the bright red of wine sparkling over gold.

At the head of the table sat Count Brederode; his doublet of scarlet velvet was covered with a network of fine gold strung with pearls; every thread of his ruff was gold, it came up to his ears and was scattered with brilliants; from his shoulders hung a short mantle of silver cloth lined with white fur; he leant his elbows on the table and clasped between his jewelled hands a gold goblet carved with grapes and vine leaves. As he emptied it, the page at his elbow refilled it; the wine splashed down his ruff, his doublet, and his sleeves; he laughed long and merrily, and now and then shouted at the top of his powerful voice—

"Par le sel, par le pain, par le besache,
Les gueulx ne changeront, quoy qu'on se fache!
Vivent le roi et les gueulx! vivent les gueulx!"

Such was the scene that met the eyes of William and his companions as they entered the Culemburg banqueting hall.

The Prince said nothing, but glanced to where Hoogstraaten sat, half-vexed, half-amused, near his host, whom he was endeavouring to restrain; Egmont uttered an exclamation of annoyance and dismay; Hoorne frowned bitterly, and darted a look of contempt from under his heavy brows at the laughing Count Brederode.

As soon as the three great nobles, the most powerful grandees in the Kingdom, were recognized, they were hailed with shouts of welcome and surrounded by a crowd of intoxicated youngsters, who took their presence as a good augury for the newly named party.

"No, no," said the Prince, putting aside the beakers that were being forced upon him. "I have come but for the length of a _miserere_—we are here for the Seigneur Hoogstraaten."

That nobleman rose, glad of an excuse to retire, and Brederode, turning, saw the three new-comers.

"Ah, Highness!" he cried, staggering to his feet. "Will you not come and drink the health of the beggars? Be seated—here on my right"—then looking at Hoorne with whom he had recently quarrelled, he added, "and the Admiral also! I did not look to see your sober face at any feast of mine, Count Hoorne!"

At this taunt the Admiral, who had been glancing at the saturnalia with genuine disgust and sincere vexation, flushed to his bald head, and fixed his dark eyes menacingly on the speaker.

"I have come to save a better man than you, Count Brederode," he answered, "from the consequences of your folly. Folly? Is it not more than folly—is it not near madness and treason?"

The dark blue eyes of Brederode blazed.

"Think you your caution will save you, Count Hoorne? I tell you Philip will spare you as little as he will spare any man in this room, and Granvelle holds you as damned as any heretic who ever ate a sausage on a Good Friday!"

The sinister truth of these rude words made Egmont blench, but the Admiral received them with gloomy scorn; he felt quite secure in his own loyalty.

William, assailed by cries of "Long live the beggars!" the meaning of which was utterly unknown to him, made his way through the revellers to where Brederode stood.

The sight of the well-known slender figure, the calm earnest face, the air of authority, the immense attraction and power that the Prince possessed, sobered the reckless young nobles, the two dancing on the table were pulled down, those seated were dragged to their feet, the uproarious shouting was partly hushed.

"By Heaven this goes too far, Count!" said William, in a low voice. "The reckless things you have said to-night you will forget to-morrow when you have slept off your wine, but there are those who will not forget."

"Spies!" muttered Brederode. "Spies!"

"Among these stupid seeming lackeys, maybe," replied the Prince drily. "Why, man, you are not a fool; you know the Escorial has spies everywhere."

"I care not," said Brederode, with a certain grandeur in his recklessness; "why should we cringe to Spain's certain wrath? Nothing could bring us into favour at Madrid; let us then defy monk and Spaniard and prove we can defend our own!"

"Defiance of Spain given in this manner will be short-lived," answered the Prince. "Do you think you serve the Netherlands this way? So you only gain laughter."

"Let them laugh," returned the Count; "when the time comes they shall see I can fight as well as I can feast."

And he was seizing his replenished bowl, with the toast, "Damnation to the Inquisition and the Spaniards," forming on his lips, when William sternly took the wine from him and turned it on the floor, sending the beaker after it on to the Persian rug.

"End this, Brederode," he commanded, and his eyes shone dark with anger. "This is not a pot-house—there are some high interests in our several keepings—for the sake of these reckless boys you have brought here to-night, stop before you endanger all beyond help. Oh, Brederode," he added, with a sudden smile, "go to bed—for you are very drunk."

Brederode stared at him, suddenly laughed, then sat down silently, his glittering figure drooping back in the wide-armed chair.

Egmont and Hoogstraaten endeavoured to prevail on the rest of the company to disperse; intoxicated and excited as most of these were, they yet retained sufficient wit to rouse to a sense of their own foolishness; to more than one the red wine running over floor and table and staining each others' faces and garments became a prediction of the red blood that might be flowing soon.

They well knew that Philip was as prodigal of blood as Netherland nobles of their wine; the sobriety and slight awe that had come over the gathering with the entry and remonstrances of the three was heightened by one of those trivial incidents that highly affect overwrought minds.

The sugar foundation of the elaborate and costly sweetmeat in the centre of the table suddenly gave way; the heat had melted it unperceived, and as its support flowed in sickly thick streams over the golden comport and the stained cloth, the little figures of the confederates fell here and there, mere crushed lumps of sweet, and nothing remained of the gorgeous piece of triumphal confectionery but a sticky discoloured mess.

"Men of sugar, men of sugar," muttered the Admiral. "So shall this company melt away."

The ugly omen was noticed by several; in twos and threes they smoothed their disordered habits and departed.

Only Brederode remained where he was, wrapt in a sudden melancholy.

"I shall die a poor soldier at the feet of Count Louis," he kept muttering; then: "Capon and sausage on Friday! Who says I did eat it lies twenty feet down in his throat!"

Seeing the company was now dispersed, the three nobles took their leave, Hoogstraaten accompanying them.

They came out into the calm April night, which was moonless and full of sweetness; the stars lay entangled in little wisps of clouds, an under-breeze came fragrantly from the spring fields of Brabant.

William glanced back at the brilliantly lit mansion behind them.

"There is a silly short prologue to a long dull tragedy!" he remarked.

"Tragedy!" echoed Lamoral Egmont angrily. "You speak always as if we were on disaster, Prince."

William made no answer; they turned their horses' heads towards the Brabant palace, where Margaret, frightened and angry, debated matters of heaven and earth with Vigilius and Barlaymont.