Lysbeth | Page 6

him, his own place being on the seat behind, whence he
directed the horse by means of reins supported upon a guide-rod so
fashioned that it lifted them above the head of the traveller in the car.
This passenger he could select from among the number of ladies who
were present at the games; unless, indeed, the gentleman in charge of
her chose to deny him in set form; namely, by stepping forward and
saying in the appointed phrase, "No, for this happy hour she is mine."

Among the winners of these heats was a certain Spanish officer, the
Count Don Juan de Montalvo, who, as it chanced, in the absence on
leave of his captain, was at that date the commander of the garrison at
Leyden. He was a man still young, only about thirty indeed, reported to
be of noble birth, and handsome in the usual Castilian fashion. That is
to say, he was tall, of a graceful figure, dark-eyed, strong-featured, with
a somewhat humorous expression, and of very good if exaggerated
address. As he had but recently come to Leyden, very little was known
about this attractive cavalier beyond that he was well spoken of by the
priests and, according to report, a favourite with the Emperor. Also the
ladies admired him much.
For the rest everything about him was handsome like his person, as
might be expected in the case of a man reputed to be as rich as he was
noble. Thus his sledge was shaped and coloured to resemble a great
black wolf rearing itself up to charge. The wooden head was covered in
wolf skin and adorned by eyes of yellow glass and great fangs of ivory.
Round the neck also ran a gilded collar hung with a silver shield,
whereon were painted the arms of its owner, a knight striking the
chains from off a captive Christian saint, and the motto of the
Montalvos, "Trust to God and me." His black horse, too, of the best
breed, imported from Spain, glittered in harness decorated with gilding,
and bore a splendid plume of dyed feathers rising from the head-band.
Lysbeth happened to be standing near to the spot where this gallant had
halted after his first victory. She was in the company of Dirk van Goorl
alone--for as he was the driver of one of the competing sledges, her
other cousin, Pieter van de Werff, had now been summoned away.
Having nothing else to do at the moment, she approached and not
unnaturally admired this brilliant equipage, although in truth it was the
sledge and the horse rather than their driver which attracted her
attention. As for the Count himself she knew him slightly, having been
introduced to and danced a measure with him at a festival given by a
grandee of the town. On that occasion he was courteous to her in the
Spanish fashion, rather too courteous, she thought, but as this was the
manner of Castilian dons when dealing with burgher maidens she paid
no more attention to the matter.

The Captain Montalvo saw Lysbeth among the throng and recognised
her, for he lifted his plumed hat and bowed to her with just that touch
of condescension which in those days a Spaniard showed when
greeting one whom he considered his inferior. In the sixteenth century
it was understood that all the world were the inferiors to those whom
God had granted to be born in Spain, the English who rated themselves
at a valuation of their own--and were careful to announce the
fact--alone excepted.
An hour or so later, after the last heat had been run, a steward of the
ceremonies called aloud to the remaining competitors to select their
passengers and prepare for the final contest. Accordingly each Jehu,
leaving his horse in charge of an attendant, stepped up to some young
lady who evidently was waiting for him, and led her by the hand to his
sledge. While Lysbeth was watching this ceremony with amusement
--for these selections were always understood to show a strong
preference on behalf of the chooser for the chosen--she was astonished
to hear a well-trained voice addressing her, and on looking up to see
Don Juan de Montalvo bowing almost to the ice.
"Senora," he said in Castilian, a tongue which Lysbeth understood well
enough, although she only spoke it when obliged, "unless my ears
deceived me, I heard you admiring my horse and sledge. Now, with the
permission of your cavalier," and he bowed courteously to Dirk, "I
name you as my passenger for the great race, knowing that you will
bring me fortune. Have I your leave, Senor?"
Now if there was a people on earth whom Dirk van Goorl hated, the
Spaniards were that people, and if there lived a cavalier