H. C. Bailey

“ I muttered. "Madre Dios, Alva would not give them their wages—well, they shall take them!"
"Three hundred men from fourteen thousand!" said the secretary coolly.
"Oh, the odds are his; I knew that," I cried, "I knew that or ever I came to Delft."
"Spain against the Netherlands? Philip against Orange?" said the Prince dreamily. "Man against time; iron against God; whose are the odds, my friend?"
I did not answer. I wondered on which side God fought when three thousand men and women were slaughtered at Harlem, for it needed then a greater man than I to believe God was on the side of Orange. ”

“ He sat there behind a table, with a fellow at his elbow who eyed me askance as I entered, and whispered low in his master's ear. The Prince did not answer; his steady dark eyes sought mine, and he sat with his fingers drumming on the table watching me.
"Nay, you look not like an assassin," he said quietly. ”

“ I answered; "no money have my men had for months. They have sworn to fight for Alva no more, and so I lead them to William of Orange. And for myself, cordieu! I had rather fight for your Highness than any black Spaniard of them all!" Ay, that, methinks, was my reason; 'tis hard ever to tell why a man's deeds were done. When I think of it, it seems folly, and yet as I spoke the words in the little room at Delft I believed them. ”