The Silent Prince/Chapter 5
CHAPTER V.
A SINGULAR FRIENDSHIP.
The Huguenot preacher had some difficulty in quieting his terrified flock. They all sprang to their feet as one man, and catching sight of the handsome, richly attired nephew of their enemey, Baron Berlaymont, the cry arose on all sides, “We are betrayed! Seize him!”
“Not so, brethren,” said Francis Junius as he went forward and placed his hand on the lad's shoulder. “Hugo Berlaymont desires to know the truth, and once convinced of the truth he will cast in his lot with us. It was with my permission that he came here to-night. Greet him as a brother.”
With an impulsive movement Hugo flung his arms about the preacher in loving admiration. Then he turned to meet the questioning faces about him.
“Fear me not, I am no traitor. I long to be a friend and a brother to every one present.”
With a quick revulsion of feeling, hard, horny hands were eagerly extended on every side to grasp that of the young lord. Distinction of rank was forgotten in this humble assembly. They were all, by God's grace, members of one family, brethren in very truth.
The watchman who was stationed without brought in the cheering announcement that all was well. The crowd had gathered simply to witness the execution of Hendricks. The audience dispersed with caution through a trap-door at the rear of the cellar, while others mounted the staircase and walked out boldly at the front entrance.
Soon Francis Junius and Hugo Berlaymont were left practically alone. The hairdresser and a young man of distinguished appearance were conversing in low-tones some distance away.
“My son,” said Junius, turning to the glowing face upturned to his, “what path in life is marked out for you?”
“I am to be a courtier.”
“Could you choose, what would you be?”
“Pastor Junius,” said Hugo in a broken voice, “I would be altogether such as you are. There is no grander vocation than to preach God's word and to save souls.”
“May God grant thee the desire of thy heart, boy, and make of thee a stronger and fairer pillar in His temple than Junius. Every one is privileged to do some work in the Master's vineyard. The opportunity to serve God may not come in the line of thy desire, but nevertheless it will come. Dost know, boy, the consequences of serving God with a pure conscience? Outside in the market-place to-night there has been a foretaste of the terrors which await the heretic: the loathsome dungeon, the iron chain, the accursed gallows, and the cruel flames. Think, boy, of the physical agony, and then tell me, art thou ready to follow Junius in this way of sorrow? Art thou willing to die for the truth?”
Hugo Berlaymont grew as pale as a marble statue. Every nerve quivered and shrank from the terrible picture of human suffering, The weakness of the flesh plead with him to draw back while yet there was opportunity. But a new-born faith triumphed. With a steady voice and with dauntless eyes the lad replied:
“I am willing, so help me Christ!”
“Amen,” said Junius, tenderly embracing the boy. “God hath surely set His seal upon thy soul, in that He hath taken away both the love and the fear of the world.”
Then placing his hand on the young lord's head he added solemnly, “The Lord bless thee and keep thee; the Lord grant thee, not peace, which is the portion of the coward, but a Christian warfare; if needful, a martyr's death, at all events a victor's crown. Now, my boy, I shall shortly leave the Netherlands for Germany. I will introduce you to a young advocate who is a stanch believer, who will help you to a more complete understanding of the principles of our faith.”
With a gesture Junius beckoned the young man to his side. Hugo saw a tall, lithe, broad-shouldered youth approaching, with a frank, winning face and a complexion as fresh and fair as a girl's. His features and expression were bold and courageous enough to atone for this dainty refinement of nature. The young man was attired in a doublet and jerkin of fine dark cloth, long buckskin hose and tan shoes. He carried a velvet toque in his hand, and a sword hung by his side. At his belt was fastened a wallet of expensive leather.
“Mynheer Conrad Chenoweth,” said Junius, “I entrust this dear lad, Hugo Berlaymont, to your especial care. Help him all you can.”
The young advocate shook hands with Hugo. “Pastor Junius,” he said, “I accept this trust with pleasure. Call upon me, my lord, for any service that I can render. I am every day in attendance upon the Prince of Orange, superintending his legal affairs, and his palace would be a safe place for you to come when you wish to see me. I will now bid you both good evening.”
As Conrad Chenoweth passed out of the shop, he found that the crowd outside, satiated with the horrors of the execution, was rapidly dispersing. Hoping to avoid the crush, he turned aside into an alley. As he was passing a small and disreputable inn a shrill cry for help smote upon his ears. Being both a chivalrous and a fearless youth, Conrad drew his sword and walked boldly into the inn. A half-dozen lawless burghers had seized a priest and were trying to force him to drink to the confusion of the Pope and to the health and prosperity of all good Protestants. The priest was no coward, for his torn cassock and scratched face showed that he had tried manfully to defend himself in this unequal contest.
“Hold, fellows!” cried Conrad with authority. “How dare you call yourselves good Protestants and conduct yourselves like this! Good Protestants, indeed!” he added scornfully. “Your recklessness is enough to bring any good cause into ill-repute. What has this priest done?”
“He has done nothing, so far as I know,” answered a burgher. “But it is enough that he belongs to that accursed brood who slay and burn us. The world will be better off when we rid it of these black devils.”
“Shame!” cried Conrad, “to attack a defenceless man and bring dishonor upon the cause of the Protestants. Release this man and then get to your homes, you idle, drunken fellows!”
“It is the advocate, Heer Chenoweth, of the household of the Prince of Orange,” muttered the innkeeper. These words seemed to produce a magical effect, for the burghers began at once to stammer out their lame apologies. One by one they left the inn.
The priest was a middle-aged man, attired in the soutane and biretta which proclaimed him a member of the Order of Jesus. His face was sensitive and high-bred. It had the intensity of expression, the bright eye and the transparency of complexion which characterized a religious enthusiast. His form, the outline of which could be dimly seen beneath his cloak, was thin to emaciation. His long, nervous fingers trembled with suppressed excitement. Whatever might be said of many sleek, well-fed priests who walked the streets of Brussels, and who gave no outward evidence of a life of self-denial, this Jesuit was evidently a severe ascetic.
A grave smile hovered about his lips as Conrad Chenoweth approached him, and he said in grateful tones:
“Mynheer Chenoweth, I beg of you to accept my thanks for your timely assistance. I think those wild beasts would soon have torn me to pieces. I should be glad of your company and your protection until we reach a more civilized part of the city.”
“With pleasure,” answered the advocate.
They walked in silence until they arrived at the great cathedral. “I will trouble you no longer, Heer Chenoweth,” said the priest. “Yonder is the house of my Order. Rest assured I shall not forget your kindness. The time may come when Father Steen can give you more substantial proofs of his gratitude. I still owe to another of your blood a debt which has long remained uncancelled.”
He held out his hand, which the young man grasped warmly. Thus began the strange friendship between Father Steen, the Jesuit priest, and the Protestant advocate, Conrad Chenoweth.