"There you have the crux of the situation, my friend," he replied. "The Prince of Orange. That is the man to strike, the others are boys and roysterers—but he knows how to use them. If it had not been for him I should not be leaving the Netherlands now."
"Why is he so disloyal?" asked Chantonnay peevishly.
"Ah, who knows what game he plays!" replied the Cardinal rather wearily. "He is serving neither King nor Church, so he must be serving himself—ambition!"
They had now nearly reached the gates of Caudenberg, and the Cardinal's escort, princely train and numerous equipages, were blocked for a moment by the narrowness of the streets and the pressure of the exulting crowds. Chantonnay was afraid of violence, even of assassination; there had been rumours of hired murderers lying in wait for the Cardinal, ready to take the first opportunity of attack; but Granvelle, who had driven alone and unarmed at night out to his country residence, was not to be frightened now, though the crowd might very well be dangerous.
He looked steadily and keenly out of the coach window at the faces of his enemies.
"They are sturdy people," he remarked, "who will give the King much trouble. And what truly grieves me is to see what little respect there is for holy things, one might say that there is no religion left in the land."
"Yet the great nobles have taken the Cardinal's Hat from the livery, I observe," said Chantonnay, "and put instead a bunch of arrows."
"The Duchess requested it," returned the Cardinal, who was still intently observing the crowd. "But what helps that? The Hat but meant insult to me and God's poor priests, whereas the arrows mean that they are banded together against the King, which is a declaration of rebellion no monarch should endure."
The carriage now moved on, and the Cardinal leant back in his seat; he had been looking to see if any of the nobles were among the crowd, for he wished to report very exactly the behaviour of these seigneurs to Philip. So far he had noticed none above the baser sort, but presently, as they neared the gate, he looked out again and up at the house near by where he knew Brederode had his lodgings.
And there at one of the windows was the Count together with the Count Hoogstraaten, the two of them laughing and throwing up their caps and clapping their hands in undisguised triumph and delight. This boyish exultation brought to Granvelle's cheek the angry flush the stately victory of William of Orange had failed to evoke; the brilliant minister, the skilful politician, the haughty priest tasted humiliation when he saw himself the butt of the malicious wits of these two young cavaliers.